An Unfinished Work
by Teej
Summary: THIS IS A FINISHED & COMPLETED STORY. A trip to Seattle to attend a convention becomes decidedly more complex for Horatio when he gets involved in an attempted killing...
1. Chapter 1

**Copyright Notice**

The characters and stories of CSI: Miami are Copyright of CBS and thier respective production companies et al, and are used here without permission or license. No claims to the above copyright are made by the author of these works. These works are for non-commercial use ONLY and are produced only for the enjoyment of the fans. These works are the expressions of the author and the depiction of CSI: Miami characters herein are in no way represented to be a part of CSI : Miami as depicted by the original author and copyright holder(s).

**Authors note**

The gauntlet was thrown... I was double dog dared to post this story even though I have not finished it and am going against my own rule about not posting fics until they are finished. However sometimes rules need to get bent. It has been a very long time since my musae---aka The Wenches--- have latched on long enough to a story to see it through to its end and it seems like they are heading full bore to finishing this one so I am taking a chance and posting it! Besides, that fiendishthiny I call a friend double dog dared me to do it... So here goes nothing. ;)

Why my wenches latched on to David Caruso is beyond me, but when they did I decided to give the guy a fair break and I started watching CSI: Miami even after giving up on it in the first season.My, oh my, have I been pleasantly surprised. Anyway, here you go, reviews are always welcome, and just be patient there are a lot more chapters coming...

Also, any spelling errors, etc are mine, this chapter has been triple beta'd already!

For you Chris Snyder, just because!

**An Unfinished Work**

**1.**

Seattle, Washington.

One of the strangest facts a person can learn about the city of Seattle concerns its ferry fleet. None of the country knows it, indeed most of the city of Seattle doesn't even realize it. Yet the fact remains that Seattle ferries can be chartered for private functions. The big super ferries can be taken out of the normal rotation of service and used to cruise around Puget Sound for anyone willing to pay the cost of the expenditure.

The Klickitat was the ferry of choice, and it was cruising between Bremerton and Seattle, chugging slowly (per regulation due to beach front homeowners) along Rich Passage. She was heading back to the main terminal in Seattle carrying a large contingent of law enforcement personnel, specifically crime scene technicians and investigators from all over the country, who had converged on the city for a special convention. This happened to be one of the perks the host city had to offer to all its visitors.

Most were mingling on the upper levels, either on one of the four observation decks or inside the hugely spacious ship. A few wandered the nearly empty car deck. On the port side, at the very front stood one man, apparently lost deep in thought.

The breeze ruffled his short hair --perhaps his most distinguishing feature-- a rich red-gold that the sun highlighted to bright perfection. He hid his blue eyes behind a pair of very dark sunglasses, making him inscrutable to just about everyone, particularly strangers. He was dressed impeccably in a dark grey suit, minus the tie, and royal blue shirt that perfectly matched the colour of his eyes.

He stood with his hands on his hips, strangely aware of the fact that his gun and badge weren't in their normal places. With him being on 'vacation', they had been left in Miami. He stood listening to the powerful thrum of the ship's engines, and the water swishing rapidly down the side of the ship, throwing out the occasional spray as it cut through the water. People on the upper deck behind him were amusing the constant flock of seagulls with various snacks, which added to the cacophony of noise.

The day, surprisingly warm for early spring in the Pacific Northwest, still carried a bite of chill from the breeze the ferry's forward movement created. Yet for someone from the deep south it was a pleasant change. Horatio Caine idly watched the innumerable small tree-covered islands and bays drift past the ferry. The homes, scattered here and there were old and well established, the numerous rhododendrons providing the occasional splash of red, pink, and white. He silently marveled at how deeply green the area was. It was strikingly beautiful and very different for one accustomed to the semi-tropical south.

One thing not so different, he idly noted, was the boats. On any good day in Miami, Seattle or any other city known for boating, the pleasure crafts would be out, whether motor boats or sail boats. It was no different here. Neither were the general rules of maritime law, meaning that the larger ships had to give way to the smaller crafts, especially the sailboats. As the Klickitat made its way through the channel markers, still going slow because of the beach erosion rules, Horatio's attention was caught by a single boat further out into the Sound which was not under sail and appeared to be drifting into the channel occupied by the ferry. At first he saw no one on board, but his ears caught the sound of people on the deck above him making comments about the boat and that it appeared to be into the ferry's route.

The Klickitat's skipper let out the necessary blast of the air horn, trying to warn the boat's occupant's that they were in the channel. The volume of laughter turned up several notches, including a few surprised shrieks from women startled by the abrupt and very close blast of the horn. More people were beginning to notice the boat.

Horatio frowned, glancing back over his shoulder up towards the navigation station, knowing that if the sailboat didn't respond to the warning blast that the captain would have to perform evasive action, the sailboat having right of way. But here? In a channel clearly marked by buoys? A grounding of the ship would be the inevitable conclusion and they were loosing minutes fast.

He quickly looked back at the now rapidly approaching boat, that odd intuition of imminent disaster gripping his gut. Where was the sailboat's pilot? Had it been abandoned and allowed to simply drift? It wasn't unfeasible, people were knocked off their crafts all the time, he was idly thinking, when he caught sight of movement inside the cabin. Abruptly, a woman shot out onto the deck, stumbling as she tripped, trying to run to the wheel at the stern of the boat. Immediately the thrum of power from the engines cut in half as the Captain reduced speed. Two things registered in Horatio's brain as the ferry let out a very long, loud, warning blast from the air horn. There was a look of horror on her face followed by the total shock of seeing the ferry bearing down on her.

Like a deer caught in headlights, the woman on the boat abruptly stopped her running and froze. That the ferry would at least clip the boat in a broadside was now inevitable.

Moving rapidly, Horatio deserted the port side of the car deck and rushed towards the very front of the loading dock. "Hey!" his voice roared, cutting through the catcalls and jovialities from the onlookers on the upper decks. "Hey! Get off the boat!"

He barely caught the sound of one of the gentlemen shouting out his name in a question when a third factor registered in his alarmed brain. There was a sudden flash of white inside the cabin, and his instincts abruptly took over any other thoughts. He spun away and hit the deck flat as the boat abruptly exploded.

In that odd sequence of events when seconds suddenly slow down to a crawl, Horatio was vaguely aware of debris showering down around him and striking the ferry. The people above him were suddenly galvanized and shouting, some from having been hit by debris or horrified that the boat had blown up. As the seconds passed he rolled over, whipping his sunglasses off, looking up to see what was left of the boat, now roaring with flames, debris still raining down in the water around it. Scrambling to his feet he looked at the wreck as the ferry bore down on it, the air horn one continual blast as it began to slew to starboard to avoid hitting the vessel. That was when he saw the woman in the water…

He kicked off his shoes as he scrambled over the chain closing off the loading deck, ignoring several of his colleagues yelling out his name and telling him to stop. His jacket hit the deck and he was over the side in an instant in a long dive calculated to get him out past the ferry's deck and well into the water. The shock of the water didn't register until he was back up for air and swimming strongly toward the girl, who was still moving to his sense of odd relief. It was as he reached her that he became aware that the water was damn cold.

"Hang on!" he called out as the girl abruptly came up for air. She had been trying not to go under again. He came up behind her, neatly rolling her onto her back, as he slipped an arm around her to prevent her from grabbing onto him for dear life. She was gagging, coughing and gasping for air all at the same time. "I've got ya." He reassured as her arm flailed in an effort to stay afloat. "I've got ya, just let me do the work here…" he said firmly, treading water. "Just relax, I've got ya."

They were both nearly overwhelmed by the rollers from the ferry and when Horatio glanced that way he was startled to see that the huge ferry was a lot farther away then he could wish. People were cramming the back of the ferry all reacting to the situation, but far enough away that he couldn't hear them. The chill of the near freezing water brought him back to reality as he felt the girl grab his arm, still gasping for air. Her head lolled back against his shoulder and he could see that her eyes were squeezed shut in pain and blood was trailing out of both nostrils.

"Can you hear me?" he asked, aware that their clothes where dragging them down and that his feet, despite strong kicking were feeling a little numb. Where the hell was rescue anyway? There were hundreds of witnesses on the ferry, and nearly all had to have cell phones…

He felt her nod her head. "Good, good," he said. "We'll be out of here before you know it, all right?" he asked. Again a nod, he heard her moan a little. "Stay with me now…" he urged, clenching his teeth to prevent them from chattering. "Can you tell me your name?"

As he tread water for them both, he realized that he was tiring far more rapidly then he expected. He glanced towards the now stopped ferry, so very far away, as the girl tried to answer his question.

"Schell…" she managed to chatter out as the icy temperatures hit her far more quickly than it did him.

"Michelle?" he asked, looking around for any other signs of rescue. "Or Shelly?"

"Just Schell…" She managed to say past chattering teeth as they were dunked yet again. She was coughing and spluttering for air as they resurfaced, her grip on his arm tightening

"All right, Shell, listen to me carefully," he urged. "Are you listening?"

"Y-Yes…"

Horatio barely smiled, reaching up and tipping her head back against his shoulder, his free hand under her chin. "I need you to let go of my arm." He said carefully. Her reaction was to hang on even harder. "Help is on the way, Shell. And I need you to help me out here, all right? I need you to put your arms out and help me tread water. Okay? Can you do that? I'll make sure you stay afloat. I won't leave you here."

Since reaching her, he could see her struggling to open her eyes, half frozen, stunned from the blast and scared out of her wits…

"Shell, I won't leave you, you have my word, do you understand? Help me tread water…" he urged, pitching his voice low, into her ear. He forced calm into his own words as he scanned about for any sign of someone coming after them. Schell made several attempts to let go of his arm, but fear was still overshadowing her.

"That's it, just do a back float for me, " he coaxed, "Someone's coming to get us, just stay with me all right? Are you hurt anywhere?" he asked. Through chattering teeth, as she tried to maintain a back float with him still keeping her head out of the water, she managed to stammer that she didn't know. "That's okay," he murmured. "We'll straighten things out later. Come on, keep swimming for me…"

"D-don't let g-g-go!" She stammered, and he could feel an unnatural shaking gripping her small body. "P-please, d-don't let go!"

"I won't do that… Shell. You have my word on it. I won't let go of you. Stay with me now!" he ordered.

"C-cold…" she managed to stammer again. Then she didn't speak any more…Horatio looked towards the distant ferry again, then back at Schell. She was limp, and he was literally holding her up by her neck. "Shell?" he asked, "Shell?" his voice grew more insistent as he felt the chill sinking deeper into his own bones. "You just stay with me, Shell! We're going to get out of this together, do you understand? Just stay with me!" He looked around again, alarm in his eyes.

Where the hell was rescue?


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

It was a long time before coherent thought began stringing itself together in a sensible order inside his brain. Then a few pictures began falling into place and finally he sighed, reluctantly opening his eyes and wondering where the hell he was... That it was a hospital room became quickly apparent. He reached up with a low groan to run a hand over his tired eyes. An uncomfortable tug on the back of his hand made him look at it and he frowned as he stared at an IV needle stuck there.

"Welcome back to the land of the living." A gruff male voice to his right said, sounding vaguely amused. Horatio let out another sigh, still looking a touch confused and turned his head to see who was talking.

Dr. Rick Turner, a junior King County ME, stood leaning against the wall next to the window, arms folded and was looking at Horatio curiously. Horatio swallowed uncomfortably, suddenly aware of a seriously parched throat and slowly pushed himself to sit more upright, appalled at how weak his muscles felt, not to mention how sore. He was one stiff puppy. He tried to speak, had to clear his throat and looked around the nightstand near his bed.

"Rick?" he asked curiously, his voice scratchy and rough. Turner snorted softly, pushed himself from the wall and hunted down a glass for the pitcher of water that Horatio was reaching for.

"Let me get it, Hero. You're weaker 'n' a kitten at the moment," he said catching the pitcher that Horatio had lifted and was now wobbling in his hand.

"Hero?" Horatio asked after draining one glass and holding it out for more. Rick shook his head, smiling and obliged.

"You're all over the front pages, H, because of that stunt you pulled yesterday." He shook his head.

"Thanks," Horatio said as he drained the second glass, then he shifted to sit up straighter. He looked at Turner curiously. "Yesterday?"

Rick nodded his head as he put the water pitcher down. "Yesterday afternoon… you've been sleeping off your little stunt for about 12 hours now."

"The girl?" Horatio asked automatically, as his feeling of disorientation began to subside.

"Aside from a nasty concussion, she's all right, thanks to you." Rick said before shaking his head in amused disbelief, "I swear though H. Only you southern boys would be stupid enough to go diving into Puget Sound in March."

"I think at the time it was rather necessary." Horatio commented flatly.

"Unfortunately I have to agree." Rick replied. "I just have to get my digs in."

"So what's all of this?" Horatio asked, nodding at the IV equipment he was hooked up to. He located the mechanism to raise his bed up a little and once it was where he liked he settled back into his pillow with a sigh of relief.

"We fished both of you out with a good onset of hypothermia. Another five minutes in the water and we'd have lost you both." Rick replied. "That's just preventative maintenance." He watched Horatio look away, tuck his chin in for a moment, his eyes lost in thought before turning his attention back to Rick.

"How come it took so long?" he asked. Rick sighed. How many times had Horatio Caine come right straight at the heart of a matter in the long years they had been acquainted?

"You were in the middle of Puget Sound, H. As it was, the skipper of the Klickitat had the presence of mind to drop one of the life boats and half the damn convention tried getting into it to get you two out."

The slightest of smiles ghosted across Horatio's lips as he looked away, again, thinking hard.

"Look, H, all told, you and Miss Demereau spent nearly twenty minutes floating around in 42° water. By the time the ferry stopped, you were over 300 yards from the ship. It's a damn good thing you two didn't try to swim for it."

"Demereau?" Horatio asked, his attention focusing back on Turner.

"Schell Demereau. 32 years old, lives over at Shilshole Marina. She's a maritime artist, a damn good one from what we've been getting on her, and a licensed captain."

"What was she doing in the channel, Rick?"

"That is the million dollar question. That boat she was on was a rental and it was burnt to the water line. Never expected it to blow up on impact."

"It didn't," Horatio said looking at him. "That boat blew up before the ferry reached it. I know, I saw the flash go off inside the cabin." Turner studied him a moment.

"Are you sure of that?" he asked. Horatio gave him a look that could have curdled milk. Turner looked down and smiled, before chuckling.

"My bad. I keep forgetting you were on a bomb squad. I also keep forgetting you are the guest here, the victim as it were and not on duty in your own jurisdiction. You're in my neck of the woods. I am supposed to be asking you the questions not the other way around. Despite my being just the coroner."

Horatio's head dropped, as he gazed at the needle stuck in the back of his hand then he smiled a little before snorting softly in amusement.

"Victim? I hardly think so."

"You… yeah, you're right there, you pain in the arse." Turner replied. "Shit! First you wipe several of your colleagues on the floor with that lecture of yours, then you ditch everyone to go wandering about the ferry before diving to the rescue of some gal who blows up her boat. What do you do for encores?"

"She didn't blow up the boat, Rick," Horatio said flatly, looking at him. "She was running to get off it. She saw something in the cabin and was running."

Turner stopped again and looked at the redhead as he turned his attention from him to staring at the hospital gown he was wearing.

"Okay…" Turner replied slowly his mind racing. "I haven't had a chance to speak with everyone who witnessed it all yet. Well, except maybe you."

"She was running," Horatio restated. "…and the boat exploded before the ferry could even have touched it."

"Gotcha…" Turner said and watched as Horatio looked around the room, searching for something. He smirked.

"Your personal stuff is in the nightstand, H. As for your clothes, the jacket and shoes are in the closet and the rest is getting dry cleaned courtesy of the King County Medical Examiner's office. For right now, clothes horse, you're stuck in that air conditioned gown."

"Can I get you to stop off at my hotel?" Horatio asked, reaching to open the drawer of the nightstand and looking at Turner with a hint of disgust on his features.

"Yeah I think I can do that." Turner sighed and smiled. "You are gonna wait until the doctor releases you right? I'd hate to have to put some of Seattle's finest at your door to make you sit still."

Turner chuckled at the look he received as Horatio pulled out a plastic bag holding his personal effects. "You think for one minute I'm gonna let Miami-Dade find out you ditched out of the hospital while I was around? Guess again. They're already ticked 'cause they think I put you up to this."

Horatio just shook his head, the corner of his mouth crooking in a wry smile. "Make yourself useful Rick and find me a decent bathrobe." He said as he pushed himself more upright, obviously intending to get up.

"Sure you want to do that?" He chuckled at the exasperated expression on Caine's face.

"All right, all right, give me your room key and I'll go fetch you some decent clothes. Just don't run roughshod over the doctors. Oh, by the way, what do you want to do about the media dogs hanging about the place?"

"Media?" Horatio asked, finding the key card to his hotel room. He handed it to Rick and frowned. "Just tell them I'm unavailable for comment."

"Aw c'mon H, this is your chance to shine…" Rick prodded; he knew full well how much most criminal investigators loathed the media.

"What ever happened to the milk of human kindness?" Horatio asked rhetorically.

"It curdled when you looked at it." Turner promptly replied with a grin.

"Remind me Rick, about all this the next time you find yourself in a hospital." Horatio said looking up at him as he swung his legs off the bed. "And I'll be sure to show up and rub salt in your wounds as payment in kind."

Turner chuckled again. "Anyone ever tell you you're a grouch in the mornings?"

"Yes," Horatio said bluntly. "Now do you mind?" he nodded his head towards the restroom door. Turner, still chuckling, got the hint.

"Don't go anywhere H. I'll go get your stuff. I told Beckman with the PD he couldn't see you until I did, just to make sure you're all right. I'm sure he will want to question you more about what happened. "

"I'm quite sure he will, in the meantime." Horatio replied, slowly standing up and reaching for the IV stand. Turner nodded and smiled then reached over and gently gripped Horatio's shoulder.

"I am damn glad to see you're all right, H. I just had to make sure for myself. You scared the hell out of everyone."

"Did I now?"


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

He wanted to think, but found that he couldn't when the nurses and his doctor discovered he was awake. He wasn't left to himself until they had done their poking and prodding of him. To his dismay they wanted to keep him one more night for observation, but at least they removed his IV. Then Detective Carl Beckman of the Seattle Police showed up and it was nearly three hours of question and answer, signing statements and by the time he was gone Horatio had a headache that eclipsed all the muscle aches he had accumulated since his dive into Puget Sound. Trying to sleep it off was out of the question so he took to wandering the halls, once Rick Turner had brought him his robe and a change of clothes from the hotel.

After some persuasion, he managed to find out what room they had placed Schell Demereau in. He slowly made his way to it trying to figure out what he was going to say to her, if she was up to talking to him at all. He couldn't shake the memory of seeing her on the deck with a horrified look on her face in the few seconds that remained before the boat had blown up. That boat she had been on exploded for a reason and it wasn't in his nature to leave something puzzling him unsolved.

It was that thought; the picture of her looking up towards him at the sound of his yelling to get off the boat, that was in his mind when he quietly made his way into her room. The other bed was unoccupied and hers was near the window. She was on her side, her back to the door and huddled under a few extra blankets. He could see an IV drip attached but it was when he made his way silently around the end of the bed that he got a small jolt of surprise.

All this time he thought she was just a very light haired blonde, but the fact now stared him in the face. Schell Demereau had white hair. One of those strange little snippets of information stored in the depths of his brain recalled how there was a very rare percentage of the general population who had prematurely grey hair, especially those whose hair turns nearly white before they were thirty. Schell Demereau was one of those rarities. Only a very little remained a darker, pewter grey at the temples, but the rest of her hair was decidedly white.

As he studied her for a moment, he realized she was asleep, and looked utterly exhausted as well. He frowned a little and wondered if that was the track of tears running down her cheek or not. He was half deciding to beat a hasty retreat when she jerked suddenly, inhaling sharply, obviously from something startling her, then she groaned a little and her eyes flickered open.

Revealing her own stiffness and pain, she ran a hand down her face as she slowly rolled onto her back. Horatio, head dropping down and his eyes flickering away for a moment, was beginning to back up when she frowned a little and opened her eyes.

"Um…" he started to speak, could see that she was trying to focus on him, "Miss Demereau?"

Schell blinked, looking at him a moment as she marshaled her senses together, that tiny frown still creasing her features.

"I can come back later…" he finally decided, looking at her again as he began to move.

"No…" she said, in a sleepy voice. "You must be Lieutenant Caine?" she frowned again, pushing some of the blankets aside and seemed to be searching for something under the blankets, at the same time looking at the IV needle stuck in the back of her hand and moving around very gingerly because of it.

Horatio, for his part, blinked in surprise again that she knew his name. He saw what she was searching for and before he realized it he was moving around to her side of the bed, picking up the adjustment control.

"Here," he said kindly, his voice low, "Allow me."

Groaning a little, Schell flushed pink, reaching up with her free hand to rub at her eyes as he raised the bed up for her.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I think they have enough painkillers in my system to knock out a horse." Her voice betrayed the tiredness and exhaustion she was in.

Horatio smiled, his chin tucked in, as he finished his task. He glanced at her seeing she was a little more cognizant of her surroundings. Dark blue eyes were looking at him with frank candidness, with a eyebrow raised slightly in mild curiosity. He glanced down, hand still on the adjustment control. Rick had found his sleepwear as well as his other suit so he had on his dark green silk pants and robe, neatly cinched shut. He was also barefoot.

There was an electric pause before he cleared his throat and gently set the control volume next to her.

"You know who I am?" He asked, curiously.

Schell smiled ever so slightly. "No," she said in that soft sleepy voice. "But the nurses told me."

"Ah…" he said, eyebrows rising in comprehension.

"I just never expected a policeman to show up in my room in pajamas…"

"What else did they tell you?" he asked, suddenly aware that he was blushing.

"Just that a Lieutenant Caine would be coming in to see me…" She looked at him again, frowning, and as he glanced back at her, trying to hide the red flush in his own face, he could see a look of dawning comprehension on her face.

"Oh my…" she said softly, sinking back into her pillow and looking at him with a mixture of surprise, realization and a fleeting hint of fear. "You were the guy in the water…" she whispered.

Horatio looked down again, conquered the blush, then nodded his head. "That would be me…" he smiled gently.

Schell seemed to pale before his eyes, as she reached a shaky hand up to her face. "I thought you were another policeman coming in to question me, and I can hardly think straight at the moment, but that threw me off." she murmured, nodding at his attire.

"No, I was coming in to see how you are. I made a promise to you out there," his smile flickered, as he watched her absorb this information.

"A promise?" she whispered trying to remember, she glanced at him again. "How can I ever thank you?" she asked quietly, gazing at him.

Horatio shook his head, his smile still gentle, "You just did."

Seeing she was speechless as she let this information sink in he gently cleared his throat. "Do you mind?" he asked nodding at a nearby chair. Schell looked at him a little puzzled, but then nodded as she struggled with a tangle of emotions and thoughts.

"No, please, go ahead, are you staying in here too?" she asked referring to the hospital.

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "One more night; just for observation." He pulled the chair up close, then sat down with a grateful sigh.

"I'm sor…" she started again before he raised a hand, and leaned forward.

"I'm fine, and apparently so are you, but we are both a little sore. That was quite a series of dramatic events that occurred yesterday. So tell me, how are you?"

Schell paused and looked at him, noting the red hair and the very gentle bright blue eyes. He was genuinely concerned. She seemed to wilt into the bed.

"I don't know," she said truthfully, sounding lost. "They told me I have a pretty bad concussion. Something about a percussion effect? And that I had hypothermia from being in the water so long."

"That would be right. My guess is that when the boat exploded, the engine compartment doorway acted as a funnel to channel the main energy away from you before the actual blast literally blew you off the boat. The shock from the explosion would have caused you to receive a concussion. Then we were in the water nearly twenty minutes."

That seemed to bring her into more clarity. She knew full well that twenty minutes in near freezing water was potentially lethal. She looked at him again.

"How do you know all this stuff?"

Horatio paused, then glanced down at the knot in his sash.

"Perhaps I had better reintroduce myself," he said with a hint of humour in his voice. "My name is Horatio Caine and I am a police officer for the Miami-Dade County Crime Lab."

Her reaction to his name was what he had long ago come to expect from everyone; she paused, blinked and raised her eyebrows in surprise before recovering herself and asking, "Miami?" she asked, "Really?"

"Yes... Have you been there?" he asked her. Schell smiled a little and shook her head no.

"I'm going to be headed there next month though…" she said.

Horatio smiled. "Really? Why?"

Here Schell paused and smiled slightly. "Well Lieutenant Caine… my name is Schell Demereau and I am a marine artist who accepted a three year commission to do a series of paintings on Florida shipwrecks."

She saw the look of curiosity light his eyes as he studied her in a different light. "Really?" he asked. She nodded and smiled.

A different smile, he noted, one more to the real person.

"Why are you in Seattle?" she asked.

"Convention. Crime scene investigators from around the country met here this week. Miami-Dade sent me."

"And your name really is Horatio?" she asked. He nodded, then looked at her with a hint of a wry smile.

"And yours is really Schell, not Shelly. Let me guess, your mother was a fan of Maximilian?"

"And yours either enjoyed classic dime store novels or CS Forrester," she replied.

"The classic dime store novels," he confirmed then they both paused looking at each other for a moment, before Schell broke eye contact and snorted silently in amusement. The ice had broken and Horatio sat back in the chair, relaxing a little.

"I know you have probably been questioned by Detective Beckman…" he stated and could see the weariness settle back down around her shoulders as the moment of lightness between them passed.

"Yes..." she said softly and he could see the fear and anguish creep back into her eyes. "They are considering bringing charges against me for endangerment because of the ferry…" she glanced at him, then looked back down at the IV in her hand. She was smoothing the tape in place and was looking at it with distaste. He could see in her eyes the confusion and distress this caused and silently damned Beckman for being an inconsiderate idiot.

"Will you do something for me?" he asked her abruptly, his voice gentle.

She looked up at him, puzzled.

"How about you let me handle this," he said, "and you concentrate on getting well?" He looked at her with an almost boyish sincerity in his eyes. "I'm still here for the convention, but I have accrued vacation time so that will allow me a chance to sort some things for you about this. Think you can do that?"

She gazed at him long and hard, utterly taken back by his offer.

"Why?" she finally asked. "…why would you do that? I'm a total stranger to you."

The words were out of his mouth before he fully realized what he was saying.

"Well, maybe by the time this is all sorted out we won't be such strangers?"


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

She really wasn't up to questioning Horatio noted, not at the moment and he knew only too well that traumatic events tended to get buried by the memory. He also knew that direct questioning on such an event would lead nowhere. The drugs in her system were reclaiming her and he could see the dullness in her eyes; yet when he was about to get up and leave, she woke enough to say that he didn't have to go and he had to admit that her room at least was a lot quieter than his as his associates kept invading now and then to check up on him and ask him questions about the incident.

Noting that it was rather unusual for him anyway, being stuck there on Doctor's orders, he stayed. For a little while he studied Schell as she slept, but eventually his gaze drifted outside and he was lost to his thoughts. A nurse eventually intruded in on his reflections and he was startled to see that it had grown dark.

"Lieutenant Caine?" she asked again and he glanced over at her with a questioning look.

She smiled and said in a soft voice. "You have a long distance call in your room, from someone named Alex?"

"Ah…" he said and levered himself up out of the chair. "Thank you…" he added then paused before leaving Schell's room. Reaching for a notepad as the nurse began checking Schell's vital signs, he wrote a quick note, tore it off the pad, folded it and slipped it into Schell's hand before leaving the room.

"Hello?" he said upon returning to his room and taking up the phone's receiver.

"Horatio Caine?" Alexx said. "What on God's green earth did you go and do now?"

Horatio, alone in his room, smiled in genuine pleasure. "Just what I always do, Alexx."

"That's not what I've heard." Alexx replied, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"And just what have you heard? I'm a very long way from Miami at the moment," he replied back,

"Darlin', you've had all the rumor-mongers having a field day in the lab."

"News travels fast."

"Especially when it hits CNN. What were you thinking of, jumping into that water up there, it's a hell of a lot colder there than it is here."

"That, Alexx, is a fact." Horatio replied dryly.

"Are you really all right, Horatio?" she asked, her voice full of concern. Theirs had been a long and well-established friendship.

"Yes, Alexx, I am fine, I'd be even better if they'd let me out of this place."

He heard her chuckle. "Good because you are sounding entirely too chipper and I was gonna say something to your doctor about your dosages. Sugar, just what exactly happened?"

"We were on a cruise of Puget Sound and I spotted a sailboat drifting into the channel that the ferry was in. Something was definitely wrong and when the lady on the boat came running back on deck I knew that unless she got off, the ferry was going to hit it. As it happened, the boat blew up, she went into the water and you do the math."

"You dove in after her. How very you." Alexx replied. "How long were you in the water?"

"About twenty minutes."

He could almost see the look of alarm in Alexx's eyes as she processed that information.

"Horatio, why did it take…" she started to speak, but he gently interrupted her.

"We were in the middle of the bay, Alexx. Any rescue crew would have taken at least fifteen minutes to get there. We were picked up by the ferry crew in their lifeboat."

"And by that time your body temperatures would have been dropping." Alexx finished for him. "So how is the girl?"

"Good actually, Alexx." he said sitting on the edge of his bed. "Only has a concussion. She's a bit groggy at the moment, and sore naturally; we both are. Other than that there should be a good ending to this,"

"Should be?" Alexx asked. "Why do I get the feeling there's more to this than you're telling?"

"Because there is," Horatio smiled again. "She saw something inside the cabin before it blew up. Something that scared her enough to start running."

"You've been in talking to her." Alexx stated.

"I wanted to see for myself that she was all right."

"Like half this department would like to say of you." she replied, mirth in her voice. "So what are you going to do now, Horatio?"

"Do?" he asked her, eyebrows rising as he stared out his window.

"I know you too well, sugar." Alexx said. "You realize that trying to figure this out is going to be tricky not being in your jurisdiction."

"I am aware of that." Horatio said.

"And?" Alexx nudged gently.

"I told her not to worry about it and that I'd help her out. The detective up here told her they were considering criminal charges against her, but my instincts are telling me that she was the victim. Of what remains the question."

"And you aren't going to let it go."

"Do I ever?"

Alexx chuckled again. "So does this mystery girl have a name?"

"Schell Demereau."

"The marine artist?" Alexx asked him in genuine surprise.

"Yeah, what do you know about her?" Horatio asked.

"Just that she's an up and coming artist on the brink of making it very big. Her paintings are gaining a lot of attention from collectors, especially maritime collectors. She specializes in shipwrecks. And she's very good."

"And you know this how?" Horatio asked again.

"Darlin', you know my husband is fond of nautical things. He's got several of Geoff Hunt's prints, he's shown me some of the artists who specialize in this type of work. If you can get in with the big boys you have a guaranteed market! And Schell Demereau is right there."

"Including special commissions?" he asked. Alexx could hear the investigator in Horatio's voice and chuckled again.

"Including special commissions. The thing about this kind of artist is, once you make it big? You're set for life. They only increase in value and even more so when the artist passes on."

"Hmmm," Horatio murmured.

"I've heard that sound before." Alexx teased.

"Tell everyone I'm fine." He replied.

"You stay in touch." Alexx shot back.

"Yes, Mother." Horatio replied to her chuckling, and he gently hung up the phone.


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

As expected, they released him the next day. He slipped on his tan jacket, adjusted the cuffs of the green shirt he wore, flexed his shoulders to settle the coat then gathered the sack containing his other personal belongings. He still had to wait on Rick Turner to pick him up, but at least he had something he could do before leaving the hospital.

He rapped a knuckle gently on the door to Schell's room, seeing the curtain was drawn partially around her bed. At her invitation that it was all right to come in he entered the room.

She was laying on her side, gazing out the window and she twisted slightly to see who it was and stopped at the sight of him.

"Lieutenant Caine…" she said in mild surprise.

"Schell, not Shelly." he murmured back holding his sack before him as his eyes characteristically scanned the room. He was rewarded with her gentle blush and the soft snort of amusement.

"They've sprung you, Lieutenant." She commented.

"At long last. But I have to wait for my ride so I thought I'd come in and visit." His head tipped and he glanced at her as if looking over the top rim of a pair of glasses. Then his eyes moved again and Schell realized he was working up some sort of courage to say something to her.

"Would you like to sit down?" she asked. He flashed a brief smile, nodded and pulled the chair over closer to the bed, before setting his sack aside and sitting down.

"I see they got rid of your needle."

"Finally…" She said slowly shifting back onto her side and looking at him as he settled into the chair, tugging his slacks into place, then folding his hands together. He was looking at the nightstand next to her bed. "I hate needles," she added which drew his attention back to her. He smiled in understanding.

"Have they decided when they're going to let you go?" he asked.

"Possibly tomorrow, as long as I don't get vertigo, you know, the usual stuff."

He nodded again, his eyes flicked from her face to the nightstand again before he looked back at her. She looked tired still.

"I've spoke to friend of mine in the Seattle Police Department. He's going to let me take a look at the remains of that sailboat you rented. As a professional courtesy," he said.

Schell frowned a little. "Why?"

"Because I think something happened on that boat. And I want to see what it was that caused it to explode."

For a long time she simply studied him, trying to sort things out and he could see that odd fear lurking far back in her dark blue eyes.

"I'd like to ask you a few things, to help clear some items up for me before I go over there," he said, and he couldn't help but hear her sigh of resignation.

She set her hand over her eyes. "I don't know if I can answer them. Right now I can hardly think straight."

"I understand so I thought I would just tell you what I saw, maybe that will help?" he asked and looked at her hopefully. "Plus I want to ask you one particular question."

"If it's what was I doing so close to the channel, I don't know," she said flatly.

Horatio smiled a little, looking down at his shoe before looking back up at her.

"What I want to ask you, Schell is," he paused a moment, studying her tired face and that white hair. "What are you so scared of?"

The look she shot him told him that he had hit something hard on the head. She couldn't answer him, and she just stared at him, her breath catching as she froze in place.

"I…." she started, looking away as confusion washed over her. "I…"

"It's all right, Schell," Horatio said, leaning forward. "Maybe this will help. Just relax, all right? Listen to what I have to say. Okay?" he looked at her hopefully again as she swallowed down the sudden lump of fear in her throat. She clutched the blankets up closer to her. Looking at him uncertainly she then nodded. He smiled gently at her.

"When I saw you from the car deck of the ferry, I only saw the sailboat and noticed it was drifting into the deep water channel. Now I know maritime law says the bigger vessel must defer to wind driven craft, but most sailors know to keep away, unless something is wrong. As we were getting closer I saw you coming up out of the engine compartment, before turning to get out of the cabin and you were running to get away from something. You tripped as you came out and you were running for the stern. That's when I began shouting at you to get off the boat. When you looked up, you saw that you were drifting into the path of an oncoming ferry. That was something you didn't expect. And you paused. When you did that, I saw something flash in the cabin then your boat exploded, knocking you into the water. As the ferry swept past the debris in an evasive maneuver I spotted you in the water and dove in after you. Are you with me so far?"

She nodded slowly.

"Can you tell me what you were running to do when you came out of the cabin?" he asked softly. Those dark blue eyes fixed hard on his for a moment and he could see the effort she was expending as she tried to remember.

"The radio…" she finally whispered, looking away from him. Confusion still on her face. "I was trying to get to the outboard radio."

"Good," he said gently. "That's good."

"The ferry…" she whispered. "I never saw the ferry. The boat had died. I was trying to see what was going on with the engine and I…" she paused again and he could see that realization of stark fear in her eyes. Instinctively his hand reached out and firmly took hers, squeezing reassurance.

"Don't push it…" he said gently. "You're doing great, just don't try to force it. See if you can answer me this. When did the engine die on the boat?"

She blinked and gripped his hand like it was a lifeline. Glancing away a moment , she frowned in thought.

"Just over by the point on Bainbridge Island, I was heading back from Blake Island State Park." She gently bit her lip. "The breezes had died and I needed the engine to get me back to Shilshole. It wouldn't start so I went to check on it. Thought the bilge might have been blocked or something." She looked back at Horatio.

"You saw something else in the engine compartment didn't you?" he asked. Schell was beginning to shake.

"It's all right," he murmured, shifting to move closer and not releasing her hand. "It's okay."

"I don't understand…" she whispered, very near to tears. "I saw a little box, some wires and something ticking and I knew it wasn't supposed to be on the engine block of a diesel. It was attached to the fuel line. I knew what it was but…"

"It's okay, Schell. Just relax."

"Somebody tried to kill me…" She whispered in horror. She was looking directly at him as he slowly nodded his head in affirmation. With her jaw trembling slightly she searched his face. "Why!"

"That's what I intend to find out for you." He said firmly. "And I don't want you to worry about this, all right? I know it's frightening, but I will help take care of this." His other hand reached up to flick away a few strands of her white hair from out of her eyes.

"Schell, why do you have bus schedules on the nightstand?" he abruptly asked, changing tactics as he realized what he was doing and pulled his hand away from her face, with the faintest touch of regret in his eyes. Schell frowned, still wrestling with her fear and glanced at the night table.

"I was trying to figure out how to get home from here." She looked back at Horatio as he dropped his head, trying to hide his reaction. Studying his hand holding hers, his gaze flickering back to meet her eyes. He smiled softly.

"You don't have a car?"

"I sold it, I'm going on commission in Miami, and since I'm flying I didn't need the little beater anymore."

"There's no-one who can pick you up?"

Schell slowly shook her head no, to his astonishment. He blinked a few times, processing that information then he squeezed her hand again.

"Well you do now."


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

Rick noticed that Horatio was lost deep in his thoughts as they made their way through downtown Seattle. He cleared his throat, trying to get the redhead's attention and when that didn't work he finally broke the silence.

"H?" he asked, and glanced at his passenger. Horatio, his sunglasses on, had tipped his head sideways and was staring out the passenger side window at apparently nothing.

"Yo? Horatio?" Rick spoke up a bit louder.

"Hmm?" Horatio asked his head coming up as he turned to look at Rick.

"Nice trip there pal? Where were you?"

"I was thinking about Schell Demereau."

Rick blinked and glanced at him again. "Should I be worried?"

Horatio snorted softly, a smile flickering across his lips. "Should you be?" he asked back.

"There are persistent rumors that you've gone celibate, pal," Rick said. "Or you got into some sort of chemical at work and it rendered you imp…"

"Hardly that." Horatio replied dryly. "I'm surprised that rumors about Miami reach Seattle. What I was thinking about was something she told me before you showed up. Apparently, she has been working a commissioned job here in the Northwest and knows virtually nobody from this region. At least anyone she would call a good friend. There's acquaintances, and the people she is doing the commission work for, but other than that all her friends and family are in the Santa Rosa area."

"And you are puzzled about how a single, not so very bad looking thirty something can get along out here all by their own some?" Rick asked. He chuckled. "Look H, Seattle has in the last twenty years or so become a mecca for the singles crowd. It's nothing to them to live their lives alone, with just a few acquaintances or close friends. Miss Demereau fits the type. And Seattle is a very convenient playground for the adventurous. I mean the mountains are an hour away, the Sound is right here. Canada is three hours north up the highway and the coast is three hours west."

"Despite the fact that this region has brought out the likes of Ted Bundy and the Green River Killer, not to mention those two DC snipers; Mohammed and Malvo." Horatio commented.

Rick chuckled again. "Even worse, we're about 150 miles from Mt. St. Helens and less then ten miles from Bill Gates. Any place is dangerous. Just look at Miami!"

Horatio snorted in amusement and nodded. "Yeah, but being this close to Microsoft is frightening enough." he joked.

"So now that you're sprung, where to?" Rick asked.

"The impound yard where they hauled out the wreckage of Schell's rental."

"I should've known that was coming. You think they are gonna just let you walk in there?"

"Only if Seattle is sadly lacking in extending a professional courtesy…."

Which they weren't. Explaining who they were, the impound lot had been expecting them and promptly let them in. A Seattle evidence technician was slowly going over the debris that had been gathered and spread out in some semblance of order near where the charred hull was resting on a trailer. There really wasn't a whole lot. After introducing themselves, the Seattle tech, obviously happy to have someone with the same background taking a look at the wreckage, gladly handed over a set of latex gloves to Horatio as Rick's cell phone went off.

He took his call as Horatio nodded, lightly tapping the gloves on his hand and looking intently at the wreckage. He began to slowly walk around the trailer, his eyes searching and scanning. He was at it for several minutes before Rick returned looking apologetic.

"H," he said. "I got to run over to the Coroner's office. Did you want to hang around here? I can run over there and come back to get you."

"Why don't you do that? I want to take a good look at this."

"You got it, I'll be back shortly." Rick said turning.

"Don't rush." Horatio said to his back as he turned to the wreckage.

For the longest time, Horatio just circled and studied until he had a good understanding of where the seat of detonation occurred. The Seattle tech looked up when he heard Horatio snap on the gloves and then climb up onto the trailer, near where the charred remains of the engine block sat.

"Need a flashlight?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Horatio's voice replied as he began minutely studying the engine. The tech appeared at his side, handing up a flashlight.

"Thank you…" Horatio said, turning it on and shining it onto the block.

"You were the guy out on the boat who saw all this, weren't you?" The tech asked.

"Yes, I was."

"Beckman said you told him that the boat exploded before the ferry just missed hitting it?"

"It did." Horatio said flatly. He moved around the engine block, careful of his footing.

"How much bomb experience you got?" The tech asked. He saw Horatio smirk, as he tipped his head sideways to look at certain parts of the blackened remains.

"A bit…" he said distantly, his attention piqued by something.

"Do you see something? The tech asked.

"Yeah… come on up here and give me your opinion." Horatio said crouching down and examining the engine block more closely.

"Hang on," the tech replied and dashed to get another flashlight. He was by Horatio's side in an instant, eager with anticipation. Horatio noted it and approved.

"All right, talk me through this." Horatio said.

"Okay," the tech replied. "I know that here was where the blast occurred," he began showing Horatio the evidence; from the capacitor, to the switch, to the seat of detonation, all corroborating his statements. "… the blast expanded out and in this direction," he twisted around on his heel and with his hands he described how the force went. "That had to have been the flash you saw when the bomb initially went off. Then there was the secondary explosion, probably the one that hit the fuel tanks, causing the cabin and the upper deck to blow out, which also helped knock the vic off the boat…" He continued on, carefully explaining just how the bomb, really a very amateurish job, was attached to the engine compartment as Horatio turned the flashlight towards where a great deal of damage had occurred to the boat's fuel tanks. He began a minute study of them and that portion of the engine. Winding down, the tech paused…

"So far you have the situation exactly." Horatio commented. "Take a look at this…" he shown the flashlight on a tiny badly melted black chunk with a piece of tubing partially melted and a clip, fused into the chunk. Both melted into place on the engine block

"I saw that…" the Tech murmured. "Haven't had time yet to figure that out."

"I'll give you a hint. It was attached to the fuel line there and this…" reaching out with his finger he was able to nudge the black chunk out enough to reveal under the light a melted silver disc. "This is a GPS device…"

"Meaning that the fuel line was interrupted before the bomb went off and whoever did it knew the exact location of the boat when it did." The tech said, betraying a certain excitement. Horatio tipped his chin in and smiled.

"It also means, that the boat was deliberately disabled near that particular ferry."

"But that was the ferry all you conventioneers were on…"

"Exactly," Horatio murmured. "So what I am wondering now is who would want to blow a girl up on a boat set deliberately in the path of a ferry with nearly a hundred out of town CSIs on it?"

"Faarrr out!" the tech replied, smiling his delight. "Beckman's really gonna have a cow when he hears this."

"I think I might just go and tell him myself." Horatio replied and stood up. He handed the flashlight to the tech and smiled. "Keep going; you've got a good future ahead of you…" he added as he began to pick his way back around to where he got on.

"Thanks!" the tech replied. Horatio just snorted softly as he reached the garage floor.

As he headed for the entrance, he pulled his cell phone out and made a fast call to Rick on where to meet him at the Seattle Police Dept. main headquarters. He wanted to talk to Detective Beckman.

Carl Beckman was doing that work almost no one ever really saw; his paperwork. He sat typing away at his computer, often turning his head left to consult his notes when he became aware of a presence standing nearby. He glanced up and stopped. Horatio stood there, staring down at him, his sunglasses hiding his eyes.

"Caine." Beckman said flatly. "Let you out huh?"

"Yup." Horatio replied, betraying the slightest hint of the southern accent he had accumulated from his years in Miami.

Beckman sat back in his chair and looked Horatio over carefully. "I just had a call from the impound lot. You wouldn't happen to be moonlighting on my case would you?" he asked directly.

Horatio's head dropped and he smirked then glanced out over the top of his sunglasses at Beckman. Leave it to a cop to go right directly to a point.

"As has been pointed out several times now, I am not in my own backyard and, no, I am not moonlighting. However, I do have something for you and a word of advice." He said looking down and pulling his sunglasses off. He had to have something in his hands. He looked back at Beckman, who was carefully maintaining a poker face.

"I wanted to determine for myself that what I told you concerning the boat exploding was true."

"Yeah? And?" Beckman growled.

"I also learned a few things from the victim herself," Horatio added, his eyes fixing hard on Beckman's own. "You know, sometimes its easier to get the answers to your questions when you don't intimidate the hell out of someone laying in a hospital bed who just nearly died."

That caused a spark of anger to light Beckman's brown eyes. He gripped the edges of his chair, making ready to get up when Horatio kept talking.

"I'm not done…" he growled. "I had a very pleasant discussion with her this morning that you might want to take notes about," he nodded at the notepad on Beckman's desk.

"You know, Southern, I don't need you coming in here telling me how to do my job!" Beckman barked.

"And you are going to have a dead witness on your hands if you don't start doing that job!" Horatio shot back. Other people in the office where beginning to glance towards the two men.

"Just who the hell do you think you are coming in here and throwing accusations around like you own the place?" Beckman snapped back.

"Just call me a concerned citizen." Horatio replied. "Do you plan on taking notes or not?"

"I think you better take a few yourself, Caine." Beckman said standing up abruptly. "In there." He stabbed a finger towards a private conference room. Horatio smirked again then turned and went towards the room.

No sooner had the door clicked shut Beckman snapped. "Your girl? Your victim…" Beckman made quote marks with his fingers. "Just happens to be a snitch for one of our CSIs who was on that ferry with you. Paul Hirsch is an expert in art history who's been tracking a major ring for the last two years. Schell Demereau is up to her pretty little neck in his case. There's several million dollars at stake in this forgery game that not a few people would gladly kill for. How do you know she wasn't deliberately out there trying to blow that ferry to kingdom come and take Hirsch out of the way? She could easily be in with the ring."

Horatio didn't even blink at the news Beckman tossed at him he just tucked his chin in, glanced at the floor for a moment, his fingers toying with his sunglasses.

"Are you interested in hearing this information or not?" He asked, his voice low and barely concealing a hint of contempt as he looked directly at him. Beckman glared back, folded his arms and waited.

Horatio just smiled sourly, "I had a look at that engine on the boat rental. The primary bomb was attached along the fuel line and was extremely crude, to say the least. However, it had an interrupter attached that you need to take a good hard look at. There was a GPS responder fixed to the back of it that was spared most of the damage from how it was placed on the line. Whoever put it there knew exactly where that boat would be before cutting off the fuel, killing the engine and waiting for it to do its job. Only trouble is, Schell Demereau saw that there was something wrong with the engine's fuel line, rightly figured out it was a bomb and was running to call for help when the bomb was detonated too soon. That should tell you, Detective," Horatio grated out. "That whoever was behind this was trying to kill Miss Demereau, that they could somehow track the location of both the boat and the ferry and that they reacted too soon to an attempted killing. Tracking that ferry wouldn't be hard because most of the navigational equipment has some sort of GPS device on it. The question becomes, who would put it on the rental?"

"Schell Demereau claims she doesn't remember what happened." Beckman growled in annoyance.

Horatio's contempt of him upped itself another notch. "You might find also, that approaching a traumatized victim with a little care will yield far better results than accusing them of doing the wrong thing. Threats will get you nowhere. She remembered this afternoon, and now realizes that someone wants her dead. Just what do you plan on doing about that?" Horatio asked.

Beckman snorted in contempt. "You think for one minute we're going to expend the money to provide a round the clock patrol over her, you can guess again. My evidence says she's involved in other ways. As for you?" Beckman smirked at him. "You're not exactly on the job so I suspect you might be involved in other ways as well."

"That is going to be a mighty interesting defense when you are implicated in the girl's murder."

"Implicated!" Beckman barked. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"What that means, my friend," Horatio's voice dropped as he stepped closer, staring harder into Beckman's eyes with open contempt. He was looking at the Seattle detective like he was some sort of sewer vermin. "When I get through telling your Captain that when I, as the other victim in this bombing business, came forward with information critically effecting this case, and was promptly brushed off and accused of conduct unbecoming an officer of the law, regardless of where I am, and a gentleman, he's going to look at you first when the other witness turns up dead." His right eyebrow rose in challenge.

When Beckman, clearly angered now, didn't respond. Horatio just smiled at him in disgust and slipped his sunglasses back on.

"I think I need some fresh air," he growled and left Beckman standing in the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**

Frustration never sat well with Horatio Caine. After being dropped off at his hotel, he found himself pacing his room, turning over the things that he knew regarding Schell Demereau and what he had seen and learned about the boat. His mind kept turning them over and over like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. What Beckman had managed to tell him only made the situation worse. On leaving the detective behind, Horatio had promptly tried contacting Hirsch himself and so far no call had been returned. Never one to sit still, he eventually caved in to the desire to at least be doing something and was soon on a long road trip.

Guided by a few maps, and another 30 minute trip on the Bainbridge Ferry, he was soon driving the back roads of Bainbridge Island searching for what could have been the likely spot for someone to be watching Rich Passage in search of a chartered ferry. There were two possible places and long stretches of road between them. On Bainbridge Island, north of the passage was Ft. Ward State Park. South of the passage was Manchester State Park. Next to Manchester was the Orchard Point Military Reserve. Both parks had a good clear view of the channel before it opened out onto Puget Sound. He spent the rest of his day wandering both parks and it was very late before he disembarked from the return ferry, driving through the nearly deserted downtown Seattle streets. By then his system had had enough and he wasn't surprised that, when he returned to his hotel room, he fell asleep almost at once.

By the next morning, he placed another call to Paul Hirsch, then contacted Schell at the hospital to pick her up as promised. She tried, to no avail, to talk him out of it saying she was perfectly capable of finding her way home. Something in him was deeply relieved to see her sitting on a bench waiting near the hospital entrance as he drove his rental car into the lot. Ever the gentleman, he was out of his car, and opening the door for her as she stood up. It was then that he noticed that Schell was on the small side and slender as a whip, though at the moment she looked a bit rumpled, having only the clothes that she had been wearing when out on the boat. She had pulled back her white hair into a pony tail, reminding him a little of Calleigh, and looked decidedly drawn and tired. He could only sympathize, hospitals were no place to get any rest.

"Hi," he greeted as he pulled the door open.

"Mornin'" she replied standing up with more than a hint of stiffness, smiled apologetically and picked up the little bag of her personal items from off the bench.

"Let me get that…" Horatio murmured, relieving her of her burden as she approached the car.

"You really don't have to be doing this, Lieutenant." She said, turning to look at him

"I've got nothing better to do," he replied with a gentle smile, his eyes avoiding hers. "And ummm…" he started, paused, then added "I, ahh," he looked away, nudged his sunglasses up his nose as he opened the back passenger door to set her belongings inside, and smiled shyly. "I don't know this place at all, would you know of a…" he paused again, shut the door, glanced about before looking at her over the top of his sunglasses with a hint of hope in his eyes. "A good place to eat?"

In that brief few minutes, she got a good chance to study him. He was a little awkward, though holding his own quite well, the gentleman in him was well in control, but she could have sworn this tall, handsome man was a bit bashful around women. She smiled, looking away from him, trying to line up this man, and the one who had been tactfully asking her questions like the professional lawman that he was.

"Lieutenant?" she asked, reaching up to rest a hand on the door of the car. "Are you asking me to breakfast?"

She watched him tuck his head in, look at three different places at once before finally meeting her gaze, very briefly.

"Yes…" he said, that soft smile touching his lips. "Would you allow me to do that?"

She could have sworn that was a 'puppy eyed' look he gave her. She dropped her head and smiled slightly.

"How can I refuse? You're my ride home." She replied. He seemed to change then, as he smiled, nodded his head and glanced back at her.

"Good…" he said softly, then repeated himself sounding as if he was reassuring himself that she had accepted, "Good. Climb in." He relaxed a little, smiled at her and pulled the door open farther, allowing her to get into the car.

Once behind the wheel and driving, he gained a little more confidence and asked.

"Do you mind if I ask a personal question?" he was careful not to look her way as she adjusted her seatbelt.

"Should I get a lawyer?" she teased gently, and was rewarded when he smiled, and snorted softly in amusement. "You seem to ask more questions than you answer."

"Part of the job," he said. "May I?" he asked again and this time he glanced her way, an eyebrow raised in query. Schell smiled then, something he found lovely, and looked out the passenger side window.

"All right, Lieutenant. Ask away."

"When did you go grey?" he asked. Schell suddenly laughed and glanced at him.

"Been driving you nuts, huh?" she asked back and he just shrugged, his hands resting lightly on the wheel and turning it as he maneuvered through traffic. He liked the sound of her laughter.

"Well, officer," she said, glancing at him with a hint of mischievousness, "I started going grey when I was fourteen. I used to be heartbroken because I was the only brunette of six cousins my Aunts and Uncles used to call the 'pissy little redheads'. When I started going grey, it seemed to make it worse. For the longest time I dyed it, but by the time I was twenty-five it was as white as it is now. I finally just accepted it."

Horatio grinned at the reference to her cousins. "Redheads do have something of a reputation," he murmured and elicited another soft chuckle from Schell.

"Should've been around my cousins," she joked. "Now that you have asked yours can I ask one?"

"Sure," Horatio replied, relaxing a little more as he maneuvered through traffic.

"Should I be worrying about a jealous girlfriend?" she asked, looking out the car window. She never saw him flinch, but she did hear his amusement at the question.

"Should you be?" he asked back.

"You're answering questions with questions, Lieutenant." Schell replied and looked at him to see him smiling ruefully at himself, as he looked downwards then up again as he approached a traffic light.

"No…" he said at last. "You needn't worry about a jealous girlfriend."

"Now I find that surprising," she responded.

"Surprising how?" he promptly responded. Schell began to chuckle again.

"There you go again…"

"Can't blame me for following my nature," he said and marveled when he noticed some of the tension in his neck was draining away.

"Who said I was blaming you?"

"Now who is answering a question with a question?" he asked. At this Schell began to laugh gently.

"We're dancing around in circles," she commented.

"So we seem to be." Horatio said, accelerating gently as the light turned green. "So where does a visitor to your city go to get a good breakfast?"

"Starbucks." Schell responded and he glanced her way to see if she was joking with him. She shrugged and grinned. "I'm not one to eat breakfast in the morning so I raid Starbucks for my Vanilla Latté, but if you really want to eat something then we can go to Salmon Bay Café, it's just down the road from where I live."

"Then Salmon Bay Café it is. Is there something there you recommend?"

"For you? The steak and eggs."

Horatio smiled watching traffic as he drove. "And why would you think I would like steak and eggs?"

"You definitely are not the type for quiche," she deadpanned.

Horatio found himself chuckling. "You've got a point there." He commented.

She turned and looked directly at him. "Well now, there was a straight answer," she gently teased.

"Meaning?" he asked.

"Let see, you are a police officer from Miami here for a convention, who nearly froze to death getting me out of the Sound, who's been nothing but polite and kind who also likes steak and eggs. You're starting to sound human. I was beginning to think I had been having some seriously weird dreams the last few days." She saw him blush a little.

"I have my flaws…" he commented softly.

"Don't we all? Never said I was perfect…" she joked lightening the mood. "I mean, how stupid could I be taking that rental out the other day?"

"You couldn't have known that someone was going to try blowing it up." Horatio said, wondering if there was the possibility that she could.

"No…" she said softly, reflecting on the past few days. "Say listen, can we stop by my place before we go eat? I need a shower and fresh clothes."

Horatio blinked once or twice. "Sure…" he said. "I'm sorry, I never even thought of that."

"It's been an interesting couple of days."

"That it has been," he commented with a smile. "That it has been…"

Once again she caught him by surprise. The address she gave him turned out to be Shilshole Bay Marina. He frowned as she indicated for him to pull into the parking lot specifically near dock 'S'. As he got out of the car, moving around it to open the door for her, he looked about to see a nearby, popular, mini-mart/bait shop, with a second story above it. Close by was a jetty where people where fishing or flying kites. Locals were milling about, coming and going, to and from their boats or activities. Several went by on bikes, skates or skateboards. There was a great deal of boat traffic about as Seattleites took advantage of the beautiful day.

The wind coming off the water was bit stiff, ruffling his hair as he looked carefully around. Schell didn't notice as she climbed out of his car. As he shut the door, she made to reach for the back door to get her stuff out but he murmured, "Ah, ah… I'll get that," then he opened it and gathered her things. Schell took a step back, looking at him, unable to not notice the sunlight playing off the red-gold of his hair. She looked away, towards the mini-mart, nervously tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Thank you…" she said softly.

"No problem. Where to?" He asked glancing towards the little store. He caught her tucking the strand of hair away then she nodded towards the docks.

"Over there," she said, nodding towards the boats and began walking towards it.

His head turned that direction, his jaw opening slightly in surprise.

"You live on a boat?" he asked.

"Yeah…" she said and paused looking at him. "Why?"

"Why a rental?" he asked carefully.

Schell smiled, looking down at her feet then looking up at him. "It's a 45 foot sailboat… I'm only one person."

He seemed to relax then, and smiled understanding. "And you need two to sail it. I see."

"But as I do love to sail, Lieutenant," she stressed his title slightly. "I rent from the office at the other end of the marina. Thank God I had the sense to say okay to the extra insurance. I'd be in more trouble then I apparently am now."

"I told you not to worry about that," he chided gently as he indicated for her to lead the way.

"I can't help it, Lieutenant Caine," she said. "Though it's been a bit surreal the last couple of days, it is beginning to become a bit too real now." She led the way down a small flight of steps to where the dock began and she began leading him down the slips to an extraordinarily beautiful, fully restored, 45 foot wooden yacht.

"Wow," he commented, reading the name 'Amalia Blue' on the stern plate. He looked up at the tall mast, taking in the taff rail, the wheel, the cabin. He paused as they made their way to the side of the boat.

"Would you indulge a police officer for me?" he asked.

Schell frowned, looking at him a moment. "I suppose, what is it?"

"Just call it a hunch, or over protectiveness, but will you allow me to go in first?"

She stared at him a moment as he studied the opening to the deck and the cabin. "You don't think…"

"It pays to be careful," he said, looking at her over the top of his sunglasses. He hated seeing the fear come back in her dark blue eyes. "It'll be all right, I just want to check it out," he murmured gently. Schell studied him a moment, seeing his sincerity then pulled her keys out of her pocket.

"Okay," she said softly, setting them in his hand.

"Good…" he whispered, smiling at her and handing her her things. "Just wait here." Then he stepped onto the deck of the boat.

She watched him as he looked carefully around, first checking out the stern then the bow before making his way back to the cabin entrance. She couldn't help but notice how the sun reflected the gold in his red hair, the artist in her thrilling at the colour. Hair that rich was rare, she thought to herself, silently reaching up and pulling at her own. He was deceptively tall too, a lot more powerfully built than she realized and an extremely good dresser. She glanced down at her rumpled jeans, suddenly feeling inferior and looked away out over the marina.

She turned back at the sound of him opening the door to the cabin. He was gone a few minutes before he came back out.

"Nice boat," he commented, reaching out his hand to help her onto the deck.

"Thank you…" she murmured as he allowed her to go ahead of him. "Nobody hiding under the bed?" she asked trying to hide a sudden shyness of her own

"Nobody under the bed," he said with a smile.

"Well…" she said entering the salon, "Welcome aboard the Blue. She's a remodeled pilot cutter from the Scilly Islands near Great Britain. She was used extensively during the depression to smuggle illegal booze about. Someone left her to rot, she was restored and the folks who commissioned me for their series of paintings rented her to me." Schell realized her nerves were talking and she looked apologetically at Horatio as he stood up straight in the kitchen. His head was a few inches shy of the ceiling.

"Sorry…" she said. "I don't get a lot of guests in here."

"That's all right." he said gently then asked, "You mentioned that you are an artist. Where do you paint?"

"Oh, at a studio I rent. It's within walking distance. I get the best of both worlds here. Mom swears I was a mermaid in another life. I have always loved being on or near the water. My paintings reflect it as well, I've always had a fascination for shipwrecks, so I started specializing in painting them and one thing led to another…."

"You mentioned a commission?"

"Yeah," Schell said turning away from him and setting her items on a starboard side table. She looked over a laptop computer at her navigation station. "One of the Microsoft boomers, you know that gang that got onto Gates coattails just when Microsoft went big? Well, they are big sea and navy buffs. They saw my stuff down in Santa Rosa a few year ago, some paintings I had done for the Historical Society there and they commissioned me to do a few paintings for them of local area shipwrecks. After them came the Florida Maritime Institute offer, plus two others that are being ironed out now, and I realized my dream of being an artist had come true…" she glanced at Horatio.

"That's a rare thing," he said, smiling.

"Don't I know it…" she said with heartfelt gratitude. "Amalia Blue here belongs to the Thorpes. I'd love to take her out, but I need a few more hands." She smiled nervously. "You know Lieutenant, you really didn't have to give me a ride home and you certainly don't have to take me out to eat."

"Horatio," he said gently.

Schell blinked as she looked at him. "Pardon?"

"Please," Horatio looked down, slipped his sunglasses off and smiled. "Call me Horatio or if it makes you feel more comfortable, call me H. You keep calling me Lieutenant and I am not at work. And you said yes to breakfast…"

She blushed then. "I am so sorry! It's just that…" she started, stopped and looked up at him shyly. "Forgive me… Horatio. Let me get cleaned up, all right? Just make yourself at home. There's coffee to brew if you'd like."

His smile shed a few years from his features as he glanced at the nav station. "There's one thing I certainly wouldn't mind using, with your permission of course."

"Anything." she replied promptly.

"Mind if I use your computer?"

"Oh no! Please, go right ahead. Should I make coffee or would you rather wait?" She reached over and turned the laptop, flipped it open and hit the power button to turn it on.

"Coffee would be fine," he said, gently folding the earpieces of his sunglasses closed and then slipping them into the vee of his shirt.

Moments later she gently shut the door to the master bedroom at the stern of the boat, fresh coffee wafting about the salon and Horatio ensconced at the nav station with her computer. She heaved a sigh, leaned against the door and shook her head before she looked in the mirror at the very stern end of the craft itself.

"My mother is never going to believe this…" she murmured to herself as she pushed away from the door.


	8. Chapter 8

**8.**

Once her door clicked shut, Horatio sat back in the chair and began to look about the salon of the yacht. The interior was spotless and neatly arranged, though sparse in personal items. He had noted earlier in the bunks built into the bow of the vessel several boxes that had been packed and sealed. There was a sense of peace about the room and a soft essence that spoke of femininity. He looked up at the glass-fronted cabinet before him holding several books, some CDs and sketchbooks. He was mildly curious to note her taste in music was almost all classical. His attention was caught by the picture of Schell hugging a very tall older man as they both looked at the camera and smiled. There was nothing amiss here, just a woman, living alone on a yacht and beginning preparations to move. He smiled to himself, aware that he was feeling relaxed --something rare for him-- and turned his attention to the computer.

It was some thirty minutes before she emerged from the master bedroom, glancing cautiously at the nav station where he still sat, the long fingers of his right hand lightly manipulating the mouse pad. A cup of coffee sat steaming next to him. He glanced up, seeing she had changed into a sage green jumper dress, a very pale pink blouse, and was toweling dry her hair. She still looked overly tired, but now she appeared altogether refreshed.

"Better?" he asked glancing back at the screen.

"Much," she sighed. "I think I slept three minutes in the last few days. Between doctors, nurses, that Beckman and a few other cops, I definitely felt the need for that shower and a change of clothes."

"I apologize for adding to that," he murmured, looking her way again as she made her way straight to the coffeepot. He caught the scent of flowers, very subdued, on her as she passed him. Idly, his mind noted the fragrance was a white flower blend; magnolia, jasmine, lily-of-the-valley…

"Oh no! I didn't mean you," she exclaimed softly. "I think of all that's happened you've been the only pleasant thing to occur."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said smiling to himself and listening to the clink of glass on porcelain as she poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Need a refill?" she asked.

"I wouldn't mind," he replied. She filled the cup with one hand and ran her fingers through her hair with the other, scrunching and teasing it into place.

"What is that?" she asked, glancing at the site he was on over his shoulder.

"Just touching base at home," he said. "Just because the cat's away doesn't mean the mice can play."

"Miami-Dade Crime Lab?" she asked.

"Uh huh…" he said. He was aware she was looking at him speculatively and he glanced at her as she wrapped her fingers around her cup and moved over to look out her port side kitchen window.

"Ready to go eat?" he asked.

She looked at him, smiled and nodded. "Looking to see if it's gonna rain on us."

"You do have the reputation for that here," he commented, his lips curling slightly in an impish grin.

"Ah but what we don't tell the rest of the country is that it only rains in the morning, the rest of the day is gorgeous."

"So that's the secret."

"Just don't tell anyone around here I told ya, we've got too many Californians up here. Myself included."

"You mentioned Santa Rosa…" he said turning back to the computer, beginning to log off.

"Yeah, my Mom and the pissy little redheads are down there. But its not really home. I was actually born here. Came back here about two years ago. Gotta be near the sea," she said, smiling and moving past him to a hall closet where she pulled out a sweater. He shut down her laptop and rose.

"You're going to find Miami has plenty of that."

"That's a fact," she said as she began to slip on her sweater. He smiled, tucked his chin in a little and reached over to help her.

"Thank you…" she murmured, pulling her hair free. "You keep this up you're going to spoil me."

"How's that?" he asked, opening the door to the cabin and allowing her to walk ahead of him.

"Doesn't the South have a reputation about southern gentlemen?" She asked as he followed her out. She didn't see him smile in soft amusement as she turned to lock the door.

"That depends on the gentleman…" he said. Schell smiled, looking up at him.

"I could get very used to being treated this way," she said with an arched brow, then softly chuckled as she stepped onto the dock.

Horatio just smiled in returned, saying nothing as he tugged his sunglasses free, unfolding the earpieces. Slipping them on, he thoughtfully mused to himself that he wouldn't mind letting her.

Breakfast was more then either had expected, turning out to be well worth the visit and allowed Horatio the chance to just sit still for a while, and enjoy someone's company. Their talk was light, never delving too far past the surface, and he found he enjoyed listening to Schell's light banter. There was a keen intelligence about her, and a good sense of humour and she revealed that she had earned her arts degree from the Brandywine institute in Delaware which included an internship at an exclusive British Art school. That hour over breakfast she learned a little about him, how he had a bachelor's in Chemistry and had joined the police force as soon as he was able. He'd gotten bored, moved on into forensics, and spent time on the bomb squad before being offered the leadership of the Miami-Dade Crime Scene Investigation unit.

Getting ready to leave, Horatio had opened the car door for her and was just clicking it shut when his cell phone went off. Walking around the car, he fished it out of his pocket, flipped it open and paused by his door.

"Horatio Caine."

"This is Beckman." Came the surly detective's growl. Horatio's brows rose as he tilted his head up, staring off into the distance and wondering how Beckman had gotten his cell number. Holding the phone to his ear, his other hand slipped to his hip in an unconscious, habitual gesture.

"Beckman." Horatio said carefully. "What can I do for you?"

"Where is Schell Demereau?" Beckman started.

"Why would you think I would know?"

"Well you do have a vested interest in her, Southern. I want to talk to her." Beckman demanded.

"About?" Horatio asked, starting to look towards where she was buckling herself into her seat, and pausing instead to watch boat traffic in nearby Ballard Locks.

"Paul Hirsch's wife just filed a missing person report on her husband." Beckman snapped.

"And what would Miss Demereau know about that?"

"That's what I would like to find out."

"When was he last seen?" Horatio asked.

"Exiting the Ferry when you guys finally got back into port." Beckman growled.

"Meaning both I and Miss Demereau where otherwise occupied, as is certainly well documented and if you had bothered checking with the hospital she wasn't released until this morning. Which leads me back to the question, how would Schell Demereau know anything about his disappearance?"

"Well now that's something I would like to ask her." Beckman sneered over the phone.

"Tell you what, since you keep implying that I have a vested interest, how about I ask her and tell you all about it later? Hmmm?"

"I don't need you to go about doing my…" Beckman started.

"Somebody needs to do the job right." Horatio replied coldly. "And the way you're going, I'm beginning to believe there's a need for charm school. By the way…" he smirked at no one in particular. "Have a nice day." Then he snapped his cell phone shut, looked at it a moment, and then switched the ringer to vibrate, before he slipped it away and climbed into his car.

"Duty calling?" Schell asked, none the wiser.

"Not particularly," he said as he started the car.

For the few moments it took to drive back to the marina, Horatio was silent and Schell, sensing something was up, reluctantly realized that this was probably going to be the last time she would see him. For some reason the thought saddened her and she braced herself, hiding behind that shield she had so long ago built to protect herself from disappointments.

Still the gentleman he opened her door for her, looking thoughtful and even began walking back with her towards the dock, pulling his sunglasses off and tucking them away as they walked. At the stairs she stopped, looking a little awkward.

"You don't need to go all the way to the boat," she said. He stopped, frowning slightly and looked at her. Smiling, he could have sworn with despair, she added. "You've been so very nice to me, and there is no way I can ever repay you for all that you've done."

"Have I made that impression?" he asked gently. Schell blushed and looked at her toes.

"No, never..." she smiled shyly. "I'm just trying to be realistic in the face of some rather unrealistic events that have cropped up in my life. You are going to go your way, and I mine. And I just want to remember it as something really nice."

"Ah…" he said with a soft smile as he nodded understanding. "I see…"

"I mean…" she started. He looked her in the eyes.

"Schell," he said gently. "This is not what you think."

Her reaction, the preparing of herself for disappointment, and the look of regret in her eyes momentarily caught Horatio completely unawares. As it struck him, a very soft tender smile touched his lips. Of course, he thought to himself, her response was perfectly natural to one accustomed to let downs. It was such a logical and natural assumption that for him (so long accustomed to the unnatural reactions of people involved in crimes that it was his job to solve) he nearly missed seeing it in her. As he studied her for those few precious seconds he reached up and set his hand gently against her cheek, so subtle and intimate a gesture that it caused her eyes to widen slightly and her brows to begin knitting in confusion while she looked back at him. How long, he wondered idly, had it been since someone, anyone, had seen him in any other light than that of a policeman?

Yet as he gazed the aching sadness that he was about to shatter her entire world crept into his eyes, echoed by the slightest caress of his thumb against her soft skin. That haunting pain that was his life, his past, and an unavoidable part of his job began to age him beyond his years.

She saw it then, the frown increasing on her face and she could sense that he was about to tell her something dreadful.

"Horatio…?" she whispered.

"It's not what you think…" he repeated softly, as he steeled himself for what he had to do. He slipped his hand to her shoulder, squeezing reassurance as he struggled for the words, looking anywhere but at her dark blue eyes.

She laughed nervously, "That you're going to say hey, its been nice, I like you as a friend but I'm going home and probably won't ever see you again? It's all right you know. It's happened --God knows-- enough times in my life that I have trademark on it!" She tried hiding behind her humour. "It's all right you know. I hardly know you," she added, trying to smile.

"Schell," he said gently. "Listen to me…" he forced himself to look at the pain in her eyes, as she still attempted to hide behind her light armor of mirth. "Please," he added.

She looked back at him, seeing such a gamut of emotions play in his eyes and face until he finally glanced down, regained himself and looked back at her. Blank faced she searched his eyes.

"Paul Hirsch has been reported missing," he said carefully.

What she did next came as no surprise to him. As the colour drained from her face he could see the realization hit her that he knew about her activities. Shock, disbelief, and the beginning of terror began to well up inside of her and Horatio was reading it like an open book.

"Wh-- What?" she stammered, breaking her gaze, unable to look at his own pain any longer.

"His wife filed a missing person's report this morning."

"Was that the phone…" she started, not noticing that she was beginning to shake.

"That was what the phone call was about," he confirmed.

"But…" she started, looked confused and ran her hand through her white hair. She glanced away out over the marina. Horatio reached down and gently took both her hands in his, forcing her attention back on him.

"It is imperative," he said gently, "That you tell me everything you know and have been doing for Paul Hirsch. Ah, Ah…" he cautioned and raised one finger to stop her from speaking. "It's critical, Schell. Because the threat against you is far worse than you realize. Paul Hirsch was on board that chartered ferry with us the other day. Somehow or another you and he have been compromised and I fear that he is probably dead as we speak."

She stared at him then, her head slowly shaking denial as her eyes told him that she realized that what he was saying was true.

"He was on the ferry?" she asked.

Horatio nodded.

"Then," she started to speak and couldn't as realization caused her blood to run cold.

"That's right. Whoever put the bomb on your boat knew you would be out sailing that day and knew that Hirsch would be on the ferry. I saw the bomb, it was crude but effective, what worries me is that the switch interrupting the fuel line had a GPS responder on it. That means whoever this person is doesn't care how many people get killed so long as he takes out Hirsch and you. But," Horatio paused forcing her attention again. "This person has made a mistake. They set the bomb off too soon and both of his intended victims survived. So they have fallen to a backup plan. And now Paul Hirsch is missing, which also means,"

"I'm next…" she interrupted in so small a voice, that he frowned slightly, making sure he heard her.

She stared up at him, her hands still gripped by his. "What am I going to do?" She asked beseechingly.

"You let me handle it." He said, letting her hands go and pulling her to him, he wrapped his arms around her as he folded her in close, one hand rubbing her back the other holding her head. "I would prefer you go stay with friends, or better still go to Santa Rosa to your mom and the pissy little redheaded cousins, but I know you won't do that so I have a suggestion?" he murmured.

"What?" she asked, curling her hands in close to her as she laid her head against his chest. The sense of unreality was beginning to overwhelm her.

"Either you come and stay at the hotel with me. Or, barring that, you let me use the forward bunk in the yacht. In any case, you shouldn't be alone and if I am going to help you, I don't want you out of my sight."


	9. Chapter 9

**9.**

She couldn't respond, and after a few minutes he pulled back, looking at her in concern. Schell reached up, nervously pulling her hair back from her face with one hand, and staring out over the parking lot. She was still shaking.

"It's all right…" he murmured, reaching up to stroke a hand down her hair, watching the wind tease at the shorter hair of her bangs. "You just let me do the thinking." He smiled gently, and a little sadly as she looked up at him. "But we need to talk about this all right? We can either do it now on the yacht, or on the way to my hotel." He gave her the option.

She frowned a little, reaching up to run a hand over her face and sighed.

"No, not the yacht." she said quietly.

"All right, then let's head back to the car."

"No…" she said again and looked up at him, pleading.

He frowned. "Where then?"

"My studio." She turned, pointing towards the mini mart/bait shop. "It's over there."

"All right, that'll work," he said gently and slipped his arm around her shoulder. "I know you're scared, but try to relax a little, I won't let any harm come to you."

They started off across the parking lot towards the little store. Horatio scrutinized it as they approached. It was an old building, and he could now see that the entire upper floor was a large studio apartment. Access was gained by a flight of stairs on the side of the building that led to a small landing or patio before the door. Normally, he would have allowed her to proceed him, but he didn't this time.

"Let me check the door first," he murmured. She nodded silently and watched as he carefully scrutinized nearly every inch of the door.

"You really think someone could have tried to get in?" she couldn't help but ask, finally gaining control of the fear in her voice.

"Anything is possible," he replied, rising from where he had crouched to carefully examine the door and lock. He stood up then, apparently satisfied, then held his hand out for her keys.

Unlocking the door, he held it open for her as he took another look around before entering. Once inside he could see right away that it was a studio in the process of being shut down. In the short time that he had known her, he had seen that she was neat and organized. Along the windowless east wall in which the door was set, were more boxes, marked and stacked for moving along with a few empty bookshelves, a pair of empty easels and three large leather portfolio cases. Besides these was a refrigerator, a tabletop kitchen cabinet with an old porcelain sink, and a coffeepot with a can of Yuban, and a mug rack with three cups next to it. Dividing the room in two was a large dark blue couch, a coffee table with a folded stack of painter's tarps on it and an end table with a beige ginger jar lamp.

Beyond that was the true workshop. The other three walls; south, west and north, were a bank of windows, covered with vertical blinds, some opened, the rest closed. Along the south wall was another pair of easels supporting a white tarpaulin covered painting of enormous size, easily 12 feet in length and about five feet in height. Along the west wall, was another easel also holding a smaller, tarp-covered painting. The third easel sat in the northwest corner near a huge, expensive, draftsman's table, a stool, and a small folding table covered with the necessary items an artist used for painting, along with a CD player and some discs. On either side of the easels were two large freestanding Ott lights (the closest lights ever to actual sunlight.). Obviously these were what she used when it got too dark to see by natural light.

The room smelled vaguely of turpentine and paints but had recently been scrubbed with pine-sol cleaner, and a vanilla-scented air freshener was bravely holding its own in such a huge place. There was also the barest hint of coffee. Horatio realized as he took all this in, that he was standing in the heart of Schell's world.

"Stay here a moment," he said to her, keeping her by the door before he moved into the room. Acting casual, he slowly began to shut all the blinds, and fully understood why she would have picked the west facing windows to work by. The scenic vista of Puget Sound, the islands, Olympic Peninsula and the Olympic Mountains were captured there in a stunning view. Reluctantly, he closed the view off as he turned the stick to shut the vertical blinds. The room dimmed gradually as he made his way around. When he finished, his shoulders relaxed and he sighed a little, before glancing at her and smiling reassurance. He was standing by the sink.

"Coffee?" He asked.

"Um," she said uncertainly, looking about the room, then she smiled wanly. "Sure, let me make it." She approached him as he nudged back the sides of his jacket, putting his hands on his hips and still looking around the room. "Sorry for the mess. I've been packing for weeks."

Horatio was unconsciously rubbing his right wrist against his belt as if something was missing, before he turned his attention back to her. "Compared to some art studios I've seen, this is very nicely organized. You must enjoy the natural lighting as well," he said with warm conviction.

"Yeah, when it gets too dark I use the Ott lights there."

"What media do you normally use?" he asked.

"Acrylic, but I will do oils when requested. That big job over there…" she nodded towards the huge tarp covered painting, "That's an oil commission on behalf of the Thorpes for the Oregon Nautical History Society. It's in its final varnishing stages. Should be done in another week or so."

"And the other two?" he naturally asked. Schell filled the pot with water and poured it into the coffee maker before answering him.

"The one being worked on is another commission piece for the Thorpe's personal home. It's the wreck of the sail/steamship Santa Clara. She struck on an uncharted shoal near Coos Bay Oregon in November of 1915. That one is being done in acrylic. The other one," she said, pausing as she started the coffee brewing, she looked at Horatio carefully. "The other one is part of the reason why Paul was consulting with me regarding forgeries and fakes as compared to authentic works and reproductions."

She ran her hand through her hair again, sighing. Turning to the cups she pulled two free from the rack. "This is all beginning to feel so surreal." she murmured, then reached into the refrigerator for a pint of flavoured creamer.

"I understand," he said softly, watching her go about preparing her cup with a tiny amount of sugar and creamer. "What's the significance of that particular painting?"

Schell turned around, and leaned against the counter, marshalling her thoughts together. He turned his attention back to her as she pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. She looked as if she was in pain.

"Part of the bread and butter of most serious artists is their ability to produce high quality reproductions of classic works. A lot of us get hired by large companies to produce these reproductions…" she started to explain. "Some groups…" she said carefully, "think its unethical and merely copycatting. Others though will pay unbelievable amounts of money for quality reproductions. As an artist works on their own original works, they will supplement income by doing reproductions." She looked up at him, gripping her arms close. "Am I making sense?"

"Very much so," he said.

She smiled, slightly unsure of herself before continuing. "That piece over there is a reproduction I am working on for another commission. It's a repro of a painting by a Russian painter named Ivan Aivazovsky. It is also in its final stages of completion. Please understand that what you will be seeing is not a forgery. The difference, and it's very thin, is that a legitimate reproduction is signed and marked as such by the artist reproducing it."

"And the forgery is not." Horatio finished for her, she was pinching at the bridge of her nose again. He reached up and gently took her by the elbow suddenly remembering that she had only been released from the hospital just that morning. "Come sit," he murmured quietly, leading her to the couch. "That's got to be one hell of a headache you've got."

Graciously, he helped her out of her sweater and as he was sitting down on the coffee table directly in front of her, he was taken aback when he saw that she looked overwhelmed and was close to tears. Silently he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a clean white handkerchief which he handed to her.

Trying not to cry she laughed a little, feeling embarrassed as she took the cloth from him. "Are you always this nice?"

"Cub scout thing," he murmured, studying her as she struggled with herself. "And no, I'm not always nice." He gave her the faintest of rueful smiles, a decidedly lopsided one at that.

"I find that hard to believe," she said daubing at her nose with a sniff and wiping her eyes.

"You've only known me a few days," he pointed out gently, causing her to laugh a little past her tears. Hearing the sounds of the coffee finishing its cycle, he said, "You just collect yourself a moment. I'll get this," he rose and took a few moments to make both their cups before returning to his place in front of her, handing her a steaming cup.

"Thank you," she murmured, gratefully taking a careful sip. For a few moments they said nothing until she looked at him over her cup and asked. "Where should we start?"

"We'll start on the condition that if this gets to be too much for you to handle, and I'll notice it, we'll stop. You really have been pushing it today, and it's been a rough couple of days. All right?"

She nodded and he smiled his approval.

"All right, how about you tell me how you met Paul Hirsch and why he came to you about this case he's on?"

She paused, thinking carefully, then began, "When I came up here to interview with the Thorpes about this commission," She nodded her head towards the paintings behind her. "They arranged that first interview at SAM, that's what the locals call the Seattle Museum of Art. They had, through a junior curator brokering the deal, purchased a work of art to donate to the museum. They had invited me to the unveiling party. Making a long and really tedious story short, when I saw the painting and read the provenance on it, I realized they had been sold a fake, a forgery, and I told them that." She paused to sip her coffee.

"Needless to say they were appalled. And the suspicions regarding the forgery all fell on the junior curator, fella by the name of Dale Lewis, a professor of Arts. The painting was rejected by the museum, of course, and when Paul Hirsch was called in to investigate it, there was enough suspicion concerning Lewis that he was terminated from his job."

"But?" Horatio asked.

"They couldn't find proof that he knew it was forgery and he was never charged with a crime, but in turn it did lead Paul onto the trail of the folks involved in the making of the forgeries."

"How did you figure out it was forgery?"

"Would you believe me if I told you it was because of my grandpa?"

Horatio's brows rose as he looked at her. "You're grandfather?"

Schell smiled sadly. "He was everything to me. An expert antiques dealer who guided his granddaughter into the world of art and painting. Mom was too much of a free spirit so I ended up being raised by my grandparents. And grandpa? He was my hero. He taught me and my cousins from a very early age what to look for in antiques and how to tell the treasures from the fakes because he used to haul us all to flea markets and bazaars looking for purchases for the shop. I was the quiet one though, I preferred to stay with him in the shop doing my little doodles and drawings while he restored things. His workshop was my early training ground. He was a very wise man, he guided me along when he saw I had a talent for painting. That's when he began explaining to me how the old masters used to make their pigments. He told me the things to look for when examining paintings and he used to take us to museums and such to show us the differences. When he died, he bequeathed enough money for us to go to college, and he specifically told me to pursue Brandywine Institute. I can't tell you how much I miss that old guy sometimes." She looked away from the compassion on Horatio's face, using the coffee in her hands as a feeble shield.

"I'm sorry, I'm rambling off the point."

"You don't have to apologize," he said. "My mother was my hero, and I lost herunder difficult circumstances. There are times when I miss her as well." Schell nodded, glancing back at him to see a fleeting glimpse of that particular pain in his past. Wisely she didn't ask.

"When I got up close to examine the painting?" She continued, "I knew something was wrong with the varnish. In old paintings, the varnish was also hand made, and over the years it yellows and forms a specific type of crackling. I could see that the varnish on this painting wasn't aged as much as it should have been and I said that to the Thorpes. They had it tested and it was a forgery. Only it was a rather extraordinary forgery as whoever painted it went through the trouble of recreating all the old, hand made pigments and varnishes. Only problem was that varnish, somehow that got rushed."

"Rushed how?"

"Sometimes the crackling can be faked by modern techniques, but it takes time, lots of time, to do it well enough to fool the experts. This one wasn't given the right amount of time."

Horatio nodded.

"How did Lewis respond to all this?"

"He was furious. So much so I ended up getting a restraining order against him."

"A restraining order?" Horatio asked, looking at her intently.

"Very publicly he threatened to knife me and all my paintings and went out of his way to prevent me from gaining commissions. Thankfully, the Thorpes ignored him and now here I am."

"So Dale Lewis could potentially be the one behind the bomb on your boat…" Horatio pondered out loud.

"Turned out he was just all hot air. He landed a tenured post at Cornish here in Seattle among the anarchists, and dissatisfied, and wannabes. He has his little loyal followers, and that particular atmosphere I find so counterproductive to good painting that I simply refuse to blend into the stereotype of the 'tortured' artist." She smiled wryly for a brief moment. "Places like Cornish seem to breed more falsity and anarchy then anything else. The really good, hardworking artists generally complete their degrees and get the hell away from places like that."

"Smart move." Horatio commented.

"They are the ones who generally succeed in their field." She sighed. "As for Professor Lewis, as long as he has students who will fawn all over him for 'expertise', he has pretty much left me in peace."

"Yet, you were scared enough of him to get a restraining order and he knows it was you who exposed a fraud that made him look bad. Plus he knows Paul Hirsch is a detective. What makes you think he would have changed his mind?" Horatio pointed out gently. "That all adds up to motive, making him a potential suspect."

Schell didn't respond, but Horatio could see she was absorbing what he was saying.

"So tell me what it was you were doing for Paul? My understanding is that he is an expert in art forgery himself."

"He is, especially in the crowd dedicated to helping Jewish Concentration camp survivors regain pieces of art stolen from them by the Germans in WWII. This forgery ring he was onto wasn't so much involved in the Jewish side of the issue as that they could have ties to the ring that stole Edvard Munch's "The Scream" from the Munch Museum in Norway."

"I heard about that," Horatio said, "Stolen in broad daylight."

"That and his 'Madonna' painting. Some 20 million dollars worth of work." Schell replied.

"And 20 million dollars is a lot of reason for a motive to kill." Horatio pointed out. "How sure was Paul in thinking that this ring was part of that group?"

"Reasonably so… they were just a fringe group, used to create fakes to replace originals in more subtle thefts. Thefts that aren't noticed for days until it's way too late." Schell said. "Then they sell the originals at almost inhuman amounts of money to the really obsessed collectors. The type of collectors who never show their purchases to anyone."

"Just knowing they have the real thing is enough to keep them going." Horatio commented. Schell nodded her head in agreement.

"What Paul was onto was peanuts compared to them. This was more a ring involved here along the West Coast as opposed to the world-wide scene. Still he did have suspicions and he wanted someone he could consult to help fill in the gaps of his knowledge concerning old paintings."

"Where you come in."

"Yeah," she confirmed. "He got himself connected to these folks somehow and he would, very discreetly, bring me over to examine works to see what I could tell him regarding fakes and repros. He was always very careful to make sure nobody else was around."

"Where did he take you?"

"An old warehouse over off Marginal Way South."

"Did you ever see anyone around this place?"

"No… Paul would make sure no one was around, and he always had to pick the lock to get into the place. What was strange about the whole thing was the last time we were in there, the replicas he was showing me weren't replicas, they were originals and I told him they were."

"Really?" Horatio's brows rose in thought then he asked, "Can you remember an address?" and reached into his inside lapel pocket. He pulled out a small notebook and a pen.

"Not specifically, but I can give you the area." She said and watched as he jotted down what she told him. "Is it important?"

"It can be, and with Paul Hirsch missing, it's possible he may have got himself caught there." Horatio replied. Schell grew silent again as the reality of her situation settled back upon her like a mantle. She studied Horatio a moment, the fear lurking in her dark eyes, with a sigh, she set her cup down and stood up.

"Let me show you these," she said at the look of curiosity on his face. Hesitantly, she set a hand on his shoulder, then walked towards her work in process. He followed her to the drafting table, upon which sat an enormous sketch book.

"This is where I start the process of setting up a new painting. It's a lot of sketching, a lot of research and a lot of work." She flipped through several pages of different variations of the subject to be painted. Horatio stood a little behind her and put his hands on his hips, as she explained how the sketch was finalized. She went on to explain the more mundane task of building the frame for the canvas, stretching it, then priming the canvas with Gesso in order to seal the canvas for painting.

She then turned to the easel holding the piece she was still working on. Horatio noticed a dowel device clamped vertically to the right side of the frame, and properly deduced it was an armrest. On the canvas itself was a ship from another era, an early model steamship which sported two masts and a funnel. The ship had grounded near a headland on a rocky coast, and was slowly being pulverized to death by the breakers. As he studied the nearly completed picture it slowly dawned on him that there was an enormous amount of detail in it.

Hesitantly, Schell stepped to one side, watching his reaction as he looked. His head had tilted over a little as he took in the subtle colours of the breaking waves, the dark greens and sepias of the trees on the headland, the infinite detail of the water draining from the sands on the beach, and the reflections on the water. And that wasn't the focus of the painting. He studied the ship, noting the minute attention to the detail of the rigging, the equipment and the dangerous list as the ship seemed to ground further on the rocks before his eyes.

"You…" he said quietly. "Certainly deserve to have a place amongst the truly talented artists."

Schell dropped her head, scrunched her shoulders (obviously not used to compliments) and blushed. "Thank you…" she murmured, quietly. He looked at her, smiled and nodded at the other paintings.

"This is the reproduction I told you about," she said walking to the smaller canvas covered painting. "It won't look anything like that one." She tugged the tarp off and Horatio nearly did a double take. She wasn't kidding. Before his eyes sat a painting from another age, done in beautiful pastel colours; mostly palest greens, yellow and pink. A wave was crashing in the near center of the picture, caught by the sun and glowing with an unearthly green. The sky was a stormy grey and pink as the diffused yellowed sun set. In the forefront was the broken mast of a sailing ship, partially submerged, upon which six castaways clung for life.

"It's a reproduction for a Russian group here in Seattle. The painter was Ivan Aivazovsky, who died in 1900, and it's titled 'Ninth Wave'. The thing here is that the group wanted it as authentic as possible so I literally have had to hand make all the pigments." Schell reached around behind the painting and took out a fifteen by twelve manila envelope. As she pulled out a series of highly detailed photographs from the original painting, she added, "He painted it in 1853, and he is largely famous for his nautical work." She handed the photos to Horatio.

"The original is seven and a half feet high and ten feet long. This repro is scaled back to five by eight. And does not have the signature of the master." She pointed to the right bottom corner. "It's marked as a reproduction. Those are the two main staples of not getting classified as a forger." He could see her 'signature' plus the tiny words 'reproduction' and the year.

Horatio scanned through the pictures slowly, often comparing them to the work before him. Schell hadn't missed a detail.

"How much is something like this worth?" he asked after a while as he slipped the photos back into the envelope. When she told him he looked at her closely for a moment.

"There's another powerful reason for motive."

"That's nothing compared to that one." She said as she put the envelope back and nodded at the larger painting. She reached down for the tarp and as she did a sudden wave of vertigo sent her stumbling sideways with a low groan escaping her lips.

Horatio was instantly in motion.


	10. Chapter 10

**10.**

Before she realized it, he was around behind her, catching her by her arms and steering her for the couch. Sitting her down, he gently scooped her legs up, settled her back in the cushions and tugged a pillow towards them, before gently lifting her head to place the pillow underneath.

She felt a sickly sweat wash over her as she started to gain some sense of her world, and promptly started to get up.

"No…" he murmured, one hand on her shoulder holding her down. Schell started to protest, but was stopped when he held up a warning finger.

"Ah ah…" he said, shaking his head. "You've had enough."

"I'll be all…"

"Schell," he said firmly. "You just passed out. Stay put." He got up then and she moaned, in mortification.

"Oh god! I am so sorry!" She muttered, reaching up a very shaky hand to run down her face. She heard water running and seconds later he was gently wiping her face. The coolness of the cloth struck her brain with its intense relief. She could feel her pulse racing a little as she started gaining some control over her spinning senses.

"Relax…" he murmured, folding the cloth over, gently daubing at her face.

"I am so sorry, Horatio!" she whispered in despair. "You must think I am the biggest wimp."

"Nonsense," he smiled, his other hand stroking back her white bangs, "But you have had enough today. You need to rest." He said with a finality that brooked no arguing. Schell finally focused on him, reaching up for the cloth, she smiled wanly and reluctantly nodded.

"Maybe I better go back to the boat," she whispered. Taking the damp cloth from him, she dabbed at her neck.

"I think that's a good idea." he said as he pulled back his hand. He clasped them before him, from where he was sitting on her coffee table again, his arms resting on his knees as he watched her closely. "Once you think you are able to get up again," he added.

"Just give me a few minutes okay?"

"Not a problem." He reached over and gently squeezed her hand. "Let me go cover that painting back up," he suggested. She nodded, swallowing, and set her arm over her eyes.

Rising, he deliberately took his time, picking the tarp up and holding it in his hands as he studied the Aivazovsky replica. He was lining up what she had been telling him with his experiences in the admittedly few art forgery cases in his case files, (several years worth of case files) along with that of what he knew regarding Paul Hirsch. She was being frank and honest with him. How had Paul Hirsch and Schell been detected by this ring of forgers?

Reluctantly, he covered the painting, tugging the tarp into place. He stood back, hands on hips and looked towards her work in progress, without actually seeing it, lost in his thoughts. The sounds of Schell trying to sit up brought him out of his reflections. He frowned slightly, noting that the day was beginning to wane towards evening. He returned to the couch.

She looked nearly grey with fatigue as she gave him a slightly pleading look.

"Time for me to go home," she whispered.

He smiled in understanding. "All right, here let me help," he said and gave her his hand, helping her to stand up.

There wasn't much to say as Horatio locked the studio door, having Schell wait on the landing before they set off down the stairs. His hand on her shoulder, they set off across the parking lot towards the docks, each lost to their own thoughts, and he could feel the tension in her neck. It was when she stiffened and slowed down suddenly that he snapped back to the present world and saw what it was she was slowing down for.

Walking up the 'S' dock towards them was Carl Beckman.

"I cannot deal with him right now," she whispered and looked pleadingly at Horatio. He squeezed her shoulder gently.

"You won't have to. Can you go the rest of the way on your own?"

"Yeah," she said frowning slightly at the sound in Horatio's voice, he was watching the approaching detective very closely, his eyes hard. He glanced away, his smile softening the hardness of his features for a brief moment as he looked at her, reaching up to run his hand down her hair once.

"I'll take care of him," he said reassuringly moving to position himself between the detective and Schell. "You just go to the boat and wait for me there."

"'Bout time you showed up Miss Demereau." Beckman was growling, climbing up the stairs, a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he approached them. "I was getting ready to put out an APB. You're wanted for more questioning."

"Go on…" Horatio urged her, very gently moving her away from Beckman with a nudge towards the dock. "I'll be there in a minute. This won't take long," he said sternly more towards Beckman than anywhere else and a wolfish smile slowly appeared on his lips as he locked eyes with the man.

"Don't you go anywhere," Beckman snapped and Schell promptly ignored him, working her way around the two men, glancing fearfully for a split second at Horatio who nodded for her to go.

Hands on his hips, Horatio stepped in very close to Beckman, forcing the detective's attention toward him as he invaded the man's personal space. The two men were nearly equal in height as Horatio stared hard into Beckman's face, his lip curled in a faint smirk of disgust. Horatio titled his head to one side.

"Miss Demereau! I'm warning you, do not walk away from me!" Beckman snapped, taking a step back from Horatio and looking towards where Schell was taking the stairs down to the dock.

Horatio stepped forward, following Beckman as the detective turned angrily towards him. "Do not…" Horatio purred. "Pursue this."

"Demereau! Do not take another step!" Beckman barked, reaching towards his hip where his handcuffs sat.

"Beckman…" Horatio's already low voice dropped into a lower, sinister growl.

"Southern, you are this f'n close to getting arrested for interference in an on going investigation!" Beckman snapped, standing his own ground.

"That would go down on your record as a stellar point in your career." Horatio replied sarcastically.

"Not if I could make it stick!" Beckman fired back. "Now I am going to go down there and get her, and she is going to start answering my questions!" Beckman said, turning towards the stairs. Horatio neatly sidestepped him and literally got within inches of Beckman's face.

"Do that and I will personally see to it that you never work the streets as a cop ever again."

"Is that some sort of threat!" Beckman snapped.

"I don't make threats, Beckman…" Horatio said in a sibilant hiss, his eyes never blinking as he stared the man down. "Now we can do this in one of two ways. Either you back down and listen to what I can tell you about what she has told me today, or you can find out just how much pull I have with IA, and the Feds. Your choice."

Beckman, his lip lifted in a snarl, stared back at those hard, unblinking blue eyes, sighed in disgust and took a step back. He folded his arms with a surly defiance and waited.

"Smart move…" Horatio said with a sour smile.

"Get on with it!"

"You know, you'd get a hell of a lot more accomplished seeking answers from the perps then you are harassing a victim, Beckman." Horatio growled, looking at the detective like he was some sort of slightly disgusting lab specimen. "You already know the obvious and that she is in no way involved in the bombing of her own boat or Hirsch's disappearance. You have proof of that from sources other then me. So how about I give you something you can pursue?"

Horatio reached into his lapel pocket and extracted his notepad. Tearing off a page he handed it to Beckman, holding it up between his index and middle fingers. "Paul Hirsch was taking her to a warehouse somewhere near this location. He was using her to help identify replica paintings and forgeries. I also suspect he was using her to help identify originals as well. Hirsch was very careful not to let her involvement go any further. If you really want to be effective in this case? Find out what you can about this warehouse, and how they may have been compromised. You might even try looking into a Professor Dale Lewis' background, she took a restraining order out on him about 2 years ago. Then there is a Russian corporation that has commissioned her to do a piece for them that I don't think anyone has thought to look into. Do you think that might give you enough to do other than throwing your weight around a victim who hasn't even had time enough to recover from what's happened to her?"

"And just what exactly do you plan on doing, Southern?" Beckman shot back at him, his tone heavy with innuendo.

Flipping his notebook shut, Horatio looked down a moment, his smile having no mirth. "Since Seattle's finest can't find it in themselves to protect a witness from getting killed, I, am going to do it myself."

Horatio looked back at him with contempt as Beckman opened his mouth to speak. "And you can leave the jurisdiction crap behind. I've several weeks of accrued vacation, and can volunteer to do the job myself."

"I bet you would," Beckman said sarcastically, as he looked down at the address Horatio had given him.

"Either way, _detective_, " Horatio said, with a sour emphasis on the title, "I can easily work with you, or against you. Again that choice is yours."

"I still want to talk to her." Beckman snarled, realizing that Horatio had him in corner.

"Give her some time, and I will see to it that you talk to her. In the meantime, there's also the Thorpes you might look into as well, they are her current commission holders." He added, waiting for Beckman's response, and hoping like hell that he had managed to get around the detective's innate laziness.

Beckman looked at the paper again, then glared at Horatio in disgust. "I'll be in touch. " he growled. "I have your number."

"You do that," Horatio replied, hiding his sigh of relief as he broke his gaze from Beckman's face, successfully hiding the smirk that threatened to grace his lips. He waited as the detective glared at him again before finally moving off and heading for his car.

Shortly thereafter Horatio headed down the dock towards the 'Amalia Blue' contemplating the eternal question of how certifiably incompetent employees always managed to keep their jobs despite being a danger to themselves and others. He was a little dismayed to see Schell standing on the deck, huddling into her sweater and looking out over the rapidly darkening bay.

"Schell?" he asked, climbing on board and looking at her in concern.

"You have my keys," she said.

He paused, reaching down to his pants pocket and felt the telltale lump, then he shook his head with a smirk. "Forgive me…" he said pulling the keys out, "Let me get the door," and stepped forward to unlock it for her.

"What's going on with him?" she asked, sounding tired as he let her go down the steps into the salon ahead of him.

"Beckman? He just has questions he wants to ask, but I've put him off for a while. What you told me this afternoon ought to keep him plenty busy." Horatio said. "At least long enough for you to get a good night's sleep. You will need to talk with him at a future point, but it can wait for now," he started to follow her down.

"He doesn't exactly strike me as being the brightest crayon in the box," she commented turning left into the galley and flipping on the light switch. There was a momentary pause behind her then she heard him laugh. She turned and her heart nearly stopped as she looked up to see a flash of white from his decidedly lopsided, boyish smile. As he entered the salon his bright blue eyes were twinkling with amusement.

"That was succinctly put." He said as she broke her gaze and turned to start the onboard heating system. (Still March, Seattle evenings tended to plunge into the lower 30's) Horatio still smiled, but more to himself as he stood looking down at her keys, which he toyed with. He looked up as she moved towards the starboard closet to hang up her sweater.

"Here's what I would like to do," he said, a bit hesitantly; but at her look of inquiry he went on. "I need to go to my hotel and gather my things. So I would like to hang on to these for a little longer…" he held her keys up. "I'll lock the cabin behind me and be gone maybe an hour tops. If you are still awake, I'll let you know its me before I come in. Just don't go out of this cabin after I leave. All right?"

Schell thought a moment, then nodded. "Okay," she said moving back towards the galley. "But you might want to make that more like 90 minutes, it's rush hour. Oh…" she started and looked around the kitchenette, "You might want to stop somewhere and get what you like to eat." She inclined her head towards the refrigerator. "Do you like to cook at all?"

It was such a mundane question, but it caused him to pause, then he said a little hesitantly at first, "Yes… yes I do and that is a good suggestion." He smiled at her.

"Then just make yourself at home, galley's all yours. I'll clear those boxes out of the forward bunk, give you a little more room and shift my things out of the port side closet."

"No," Horatio said, "You just go in and get some well deserved rest. I can handle that chore when I get back," he raised his finger at her look of protest. "Besides, it'll give me something to do," he added.

"All right…" she assented. "The computer's all yours to use too, and you're welcome to use the CD player in the cabinet. If you don't mind classical."

"Classical is fine." Horatio said with a soft smile, as he looked down and fingered the pewter sand dollar on her key chain. He shook himself a little and looked back at her. "All right then, I'll be back shortly. I don't think I have to tell you about letting anyone else on board?"

"I'll be good officer, I promise." she said with a mirthful acquiescence. Horatio smirked ever so slightly at her, raised his finger in warning, smiled, and left.

When he returned, holding a sack of groceries, a small black suitcase and a garment bag, he saw she had promptly ignored him. Stacked neatly on the port side bench opposite the table, were her moving boxes. He shook his head, setting the groceries down in the galley. Placing his briefcase on the nav chair, he went and put his garment bag in the closet and saw that she had gone so far as to make up the full size starboard bunk for him to sleep on, leaving a tiny reading light on. He smiled to himself, and paused, looking around the interior of the salon. It was very quiet. Only the muffled sounds of the marina could be heard and he could feel a very gentle rocking of the boat. He stood a while, lost in thought and then made his way to the master bedroom. Her door was ajar, and he paused in the doorway, let his sight adjust to the gloom, and looked in on her.

Schell was completely out, flat on her back, her head tipped away from him. How long he stood there in the doorway he never knew. He just watched her sleep, as a soft but occasionally sad smile touched his lips. She looked... beautiful, an idle part of his mind wondered, studying her face. How long had it been since he had thought that about someone, anyone...?


	11. Chapter 11

**11.**

Every police officer, in the course of time, eventually learns the odious task of writing up reports and statements in the legalistic terms necessary for official files. Horatio was no different, if anything he was so proficient at the task due to his investigative and scientific background that he would often dream in legalese. For the remainder of his evening, still being a bit early in Seattle but three hours later on the East coast, he sat there in the warm cabin of the 'Amalia Blue' and typed out for himself and for Schell their official statements of what had occurred regarding the rental boat, and what she knew in regards to Paul Hirsch. He fully intended for her to read them over, make any necessary changes and have them ready for later. Once he had checked out of the hotel, he knew he had pretty much cut himself off from contact with his co-workers in Miami, as the yacht carried no landline. Only if his connection was damned good would the cell phone work. He did place two local calls, that to the Captain of Beckman's squad with a request for a call back and a meeting, and the other to Rick Turner to tell him what was going on.

That had pretty much left him alone to write up the reports, to relax and think. A luxury for him. The 'Amalia Blue' had the advantage of providing that uniquely peaceful quality Horatio's soul often yearned for. All that could be heard were the small sounds of the appliances, the muted lapping of water against the hull, the soft rain showering down and the occasional slap and jingle of the rigging. Further out was the sound of shipping and the sporadic blast from a passing ferry. He found himself curious as to why Schell Demereau, as young as she was, would live in this sort of environment, not that that was a bad thing.

The 'Amalia Blue' also provided one other thing that was very rare for Horatio Caine. She lulled him into a very deep sleep. For the first time in a long time he slipped straight down into a comforting blackness and did not dream. It was therefore somewhat confusing for him, who was so used to snapping awake in the dead of night for a 'Call 31', to actually have to struggle awake when a wholly different sound nudged him gently into something resembling consciousness.

Groggily he turned over onto his back and blinked in confusion at the unfamiliar surroundings. He ran a hand down his face, pushed the blankets down his bare chest with the other hand and blinked, trying to focus in the soft grey gloom of dawn. He had finally put a name to the noise, the coffeemaker was brewing a pot. Frowning, he sat up and looked out into the salon, running a hand through his rumpled red hair. He had slept so that he could look out into the salon and keep an eye on the main cabin door. And as he collected himself he realized he had been sleeping damn hard. Other than himself, there was no other movement on the boat, save the gentle rocking. He could hear that it was raining out as he swung his pajama-clad legs to the floor and he listened carefully for the sounds of the other occupant of the boat.

More fully awake, he began to sense that he was the only person onboard. Rising, he flipped the blankets back into place then reached into the port side locker for his robe, as it was downright chilly. Cinching it around his waist he padded through the dining nook and towards the master bedroom door. It was too damn quiet. And he knew, even as he lightly rapped a knuckle on the door, that Schell Demereau was not on board the boat.

"Schell?" he asked, and poked his head into the room. The bed was neatly made and empty. Horatio turned towards the galley, the smell of the coffee caressing his nose, and frowned when he saw a note in front of the coffeepot, held in place by a cup. As annoyance tiptoed around the alarm he was feeling, he moved into the galley and picked up the note.

'Morning,' -- it read-- 'Don't be worried, the only people up at this hour are the commercial fishermen and one particular starving artist on a deadline, so I am in the studio. Feel free to use the shower in the master bedroom if you'd like. Hope you slept well, you were when I left. ;) P.S. I have the keys.'

Horatio sighed, running his hand over his mouth, the other planted on his hip as he leaned into the counter and struggled between relief and dismay. A glance at the clock on the microwave told him it was a quarter to six. How long had she been out of the boat? Pursing his lips in disgust at having slept too hard, he pushed off from the counter and headed back to the forward bunk, where he gathered his shaving kit. Half an hour later, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and shivering in a thick black overcoat against the chilly grey morning, he strode across the parking lot towards the mini-mart/bait shop.

The city was barely starting to wake up and he glanced cautiously towards the huge park that sat east of the marina, still shrouded in wisps of fog and darkness, broken up only occasionally by the passing cars of early commuters and the halogen street lights that were on. A soft shower fell, which he ignored as he approached the stairs to the studio. A glance at the windows caused him to frown in dismay even more; he couldn't tell if any lights were on as the blinds were still drawn. When he reached the landing and faced the door, he paused again, habitually scanning around, and was about to knock when he stopped and very gingerly tested the knob to see it was locked. That was when his nose caught the smell of coffee, confirming that she was inside. He pursed his lips a moment, then he reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a slim pen case. Opening it revealed a pen in a stiff felt case liner. With his fingernail, he tugged the liner up and pulled it towards him to further reveal two lock picks. Pulling one out, he rearranged things, put the case away, and then very neatly, and just as silently, he unlocked the studio door.

The only lights on inside were the Ott lights. As he cautiously, and silently entered, the smell of varnish reached his nose and he glanced left to see the enormous painting set on two easels revealed. One of the Ott lights was set near it along with a fan. The painting, lying sideways, was of a four-mast sailing ship struck on rocks in a breaking sea, with its sails and rigging being blown to bits in the storm that had driven it there. Despite the stunningly large work, Horatio wasn't interested; he instead looked towards the back of the room.

Schell was ensconced under the other Ott light, sitting on a stool before the unfinished painting in the northwest corner of the room. She had slipped on a pair of soft leather boots, jeans and a sweater with the sleeves rolled up and had her white hair pulled back in a thick ponytail, her bangs falling in front of her face. Intensely focusing on the acrylic painting before her, she had in her left hand a painter's palette, upon which she was mixing colours together with a thin palette knife before she dropped it into a small can of water on the shelf of the easel before her. Reaching for a slim brush, she leaned forward, set her right arm on the dowel armrest, twisted her back towards Horatio and began earnestly applying critical detail to the painting. Her concentration on the work was such that he could almost feel it. She was utterly oblivious to him.

She was so oblivious that she never heard him shut the door, go to the coffeepot, pour himself a cup and move over to the couch. He leaned a hip against the back of it, holding the coffee cup in one hand, his other on his hip, his thumb hooked in his belt and the index finger resting on the top edge. He waited for a pause in her work; when she sat back to examine what she had done, he cleared his throat, loudly.

With an indrawn gasp of horror, Schell shot backwards off the stool so fast it rocked violently then fell with a clatter as she stumbled. Trying to juggle the palette in her hand she looked toward the source of the sound, pale with fright. Seeing him standing there, observing her over the rim of his coffee cup, she reached a shaky hand to pull her hair back off her face, and struggled to catch her breath.

"Horatio!" she sighed in relief, her heart pounding where it had lodged in her throat. "You scared the hell out of me!" She let out a nervous laugh as she sounded relieved and chagrined at the same time.

Lowering his cup, he bit his bottom lip gently then softly said, "Good."

Hearing his voice, Schell frowned, straightening up, holding her free hand to her chest as she gained control of the adrenalin coursing through her.

"If I was trying to kill you…" he went on, "I could have taken you out six ways to Sunday by now."

"How did you…?" she started to say, a flash of resentment in her eyes before she saw him look away, lick his lower lip again before turning back to her with an expression that brooked no arguing.

"If I am to keep you safe we are going to have to establish a few ground rules," he continued, "Otherwise, my spending the time to keep you from harm is going to be pointless if you just up and leave my protection on a whim." He paused again, sipping coffee, watching her over the cup.

Any arguing with him was stopped dead at the tone in his voice. Schell couldn't keep his gaze, and looked away, resembling a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. She lowered the palette in her hand.

"It was not very hard for me to pick that lock," he continued, "And enter this room without you even noticing me. That is something that has to change until this situation regarding whoever it is who wants you dead is resolved. What if it was him instead of me entering this room? What would you have been able to do? Hmmm?" His eyebrow rose in query.

"You've made your point, Lieutenant," she said with a touch of sharpness. Still not able to bear his gaze.

"Have I?" he went on relentlessly. "This isn't a game we're playing here, Schell, this is your life."

She started to lift her head in defiance, saw the look in his eyes and conceded defeat. She turned away from him, setting the palette down on the table, and picking up a piece of Saran wrap to cover the paint and keep it moist. She sighed, sheepishly glancing his way again.

He hadn't moved, though the look on his face had changed to one more of compassion. "Schell," he said gently, "I am aware that this situation is utterly foreign to you, but this is something I am terribly familiar with."

He selected his words carefully. "I am more than aware of what a killer is capable of doing, especially one who is still seeking his victim. I am also more than capable of keeping someone like you alive, and safe and protected."

He had put his cup down, and was carefully emphasizing his points with his hands flat together, his fingers pointing towards her, almost as if he was praying. "And part of that protection means you are going to have to give up familiar habits, because your attacker most assuredly knows your habits by now. My being with you has thrown him off, but that will not stop him from trying again, if you don't change. I am willing to help you, so long as you do exactly what I suggest. Are you still with me?"

She glanced at him again, still chagrinned, and nodded assent, looking back down at her fallen stool. Horatio could see she was clenching her teeth in an effort not to say anything and he sighed, looking away from her as he dropped his hands, feeling a twinge of regret at having to drive his point home. Silently she reached down and picked up her stool, setting it near the easel.

The silence stretched out a moment longer before she looked shyly at him, where he leaned back with his hands on the couch, and was looking at the sideways painting on its easels. "So what happens now?" she asked.

He sighed, looking at her, his eyes barely concealing a deep-seated sorrow. He was painfully aware of the wall of defense she had just built.

"It's early yet, but I've some things for you to look over on the boat. We should try and give Beckman what he wants today, just to keep him happy." He waited as she reached over to the water can on her easel, removing her tools and tapping the extra water off.

"All right." she replied, reaching for a rag on the table and turning away from him. The flatness in her voice seemed to skewer him and he looked at her with a sense of loss in his eyes. He wanted to say something and found he couldn't. He blinked a few a times, looking around the room, as she cleaned up her brushes. He dropped his head, and stood up straight, reaching for where he had draped his overcoat across the back of the couch.

Saying nothing, Schell took the can from the easel and walked around him, heading for the sink as she tugged her sleeves back down. Once there she set the can in the sink, shut the coffeemaker off, then paused at the door, waiting for him as he straightened the collar of his coat.

"Cold out there," he commented, feeling an odd itch between his shoulder blades. She didn't reply, she just reached over for the door knob.

"Schell," he said softly, causing her to stop. Looking up with that faint flash of fire in her eyes, she sighed, raised her hands and stood back, letting him open the door. Never realizing how her action twisted a knife in his guts. He reached out and opened the door.

Habitually scanning for any signs of danger, Horatio was looking straight out over Shilshole Avenue, now busier with cars, towards the dark green canopy of trees from the park. A momentary flash of red in his eyes caused him to frown for a split second before realization hit him.

"Down!" he shouted, crouching and turning towards Schell behind him. He heard the first bullet literally inches from his ear as he instinctively grabbed for a gun that wasn't on his hip, the second and third he 'felt' as they whipped past the open door of the studio. Schell had no clue what was happening as he literally tackled her to floor.

"Stay down!" he yelled in frustration, twisting around like a cat, and catching the door with his foot, slamming it shut. Almost as fast, several holes appeared in it, causing him to roll back and cover her with his body for protection. He was fumbling desperately in his jacket for his cell phone. At a pause in the shooting, he scrambled up, dragging Schell with him to the safety of the moving boxes as he pulled her away from the door. Urgently he asked, "Are you all right?" and at her nod he said, sternly, "You stay right here!"

Rising up the stack of boxes, his back to them, he inched towards the door, his hands automatically flipping open his cell phone and hitting the buttons for 911. He sidled around her bookcase, reaching the door as a voice on the other end of the line answered the call. Horatio's commanding tone took over as he reached over with his left hand, feeling a twinge as he twisted, and grabbed the door knob.

"This is Horatio Caine, we have shots being fired at the studio above the mini-mart at Shilshole Bay Marina, I repeat, we have shots being fired!" Even as he jerked the door open, those shots continued being fired, striking the door jamb and causing him to whip his head back. Dropping to a crouch, the phone still to his ear, he risked a quick fast look outside, before jerking back. "Shots are being fired from across the street in the park. You have two civilians pinned down inside the studio!" Horatio nearly swore at the voice on the other end of the line, "Yes, I'm an off duty police officer! I am unarmed, repeat, I am unarmed!"


	12. Chapter 12

**12.**

As time seemed to slow to an infinitesimal crawl, in actuality, the Seattle Police Department was swarming all over the place in a matter of minutes. When the shooting had stopped and when Horatio was certain the shooter had fled, he very carefully tracked the location of the bullets that had entered the studio, before turning and attempting to pinpoint just where the shooter could have been hiding.

Schell remained on the floor, moving only to sit with her legs curled under her and leaned up against the boxes like they were the only support in the world that she had, her left hand flat against them, near her ashen face. As the first responding units arrived, Horatio returned to her side, crouching down next to her. The look of sheer fright on her face, struck him like a hammer and he could see she was shaking uncontrollably.

"Here…" he said gently, shrugging out of his overcoat, feeling a sharp pinch above his right hip. He ignored it, and wrapped the overcoat around her shoulders. "C'mon," he coaxed, helping her to her unsteady feet. "Easy, come on…"

There was a thundering of footsteps on the stairs and he called out over his shoulder. "We're unarmed!" Just as two uniformed policemen, guns drawn, covered the room.

"Are you Caine?" One of them demanded.

"That's me," Horatio said, using himself to shield Schell from them. "You can put the guns up…" he added. "The shots were being fired from across the street." He turned his attention back to Schell, helping her sit down on the couch. "You just sit here, and wait for me, all right?" he asked, his hand stroking her hair. She barely nodded, as he pulled the overcoat around her even more. She clutched it close, and looked up at him uncertainly. "I'm going to be busy for a few minutes, but I'll be right back, okay?" He couldn't tell if her nod was a nod of assent or the shaking that still racked her body.

He turned towards the two policemen, both of whom had lowered their guns, but hadn't holstered them as yet, one was looking cautiously outside the door, the other faced Horatio.

"I'm Horatio Caine, I'm a police officer and a visitor here, a crime scene investigator. This is Schell Demereau, and this is her studio. We were getting ready to leave when shots were fired at us from that direction." Horatio said, pointing with his hand. He turned and pointed into the studio. "I have located about seven rounds but I estimate a good 12 to 13 were actually fired. There's bound to be more." The professional investigator in him took over and he carefully began explaining to the two the sequence of events that had happened and what evidence there was to collect. As he spoke, several more uniforms arrived and before too much longer several detectives and the Captain of the SWAT team arrived as well. Horatio could hear the sounds of an approaching chopper and a glance outside revealed police units all over the parking lot and beyond over into the park.

As for Schell, things changed to a blur. With a horrible sense of disorientation, she stared at the floor, oblivious to the studio filling with cops, before someone ordered them out as it was now a crime scene. Another officer was asking her questions, but she was simply uncomprehending anything they were saying. She was still shivering, trying to make sense of her world suddenly vaporizing before her eyes.

She was never aware of Horatio returning to her until she felt his fingers brush her cheek. She blinked, focusing on him. He was crouched before her, looking at her worriedly.

"Schell?" he was asking again. Seeing her focus on him, he tried giving her a smile of encouragement as he reached down to take her elbow and help her to stand. "We have to go outside now, all right?" he asked, watching her. She clutched his overcoat tighter as they both stood up straight. Her face was tight with fear and incomprehension, the corners of her mouth nearly white in her pale face.

"We really do need to ask her some questions, Lieutenant," one of the officers was saying.

"You will get your questions answered, we need to clear the room first." Horatio said over his shoulder. He gently steered Schell towards the door. "Would somebody make sure that the media is out of the way?"

Schell moaned a little beside him, and he looked down to see the appalled look on her face.

"It's all right," he reassured, moving to shield her from prying eyes as they approached the door. She hesitated and he protectively slipped his arm around her shoulders, still holding her elbow in support as they made their way to the landing. He even went so far as to lean towards her to shield her from the rain.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, a stranger approached Horatio.

"Lieutenant Caine?" he asked, catching Horatio's attention. "Captain Payton, Seattle PD. I believe you've been trying to get a hold of me… and you've got my attention now." He identified himself and looked at Schell in concern.

"We're all right, just shaken a bit." Horatio said, smiling at the candor in the man's voice. "However, I would like to take Miss Demereau over to her boat, its over on that dock there," he nodded in the right direction. "That is if you don't mind. Some help to keep folks away would be very welcome as well."

Payton looked towards the dock, then at the scene crawling with responding units, media and early morning gawkers, then back at Horatio. "I think I can manage that. You won't be going anywhere? Sure you don't need to see one of the medics?"

Schell shook her head no, looking away.

"No, we just need to be somewhere quiet."

"All right, let me get things squared away here and then I'll be down with my questions, I understand you have a few as well?"

"Yes, and you may want to bring Carl Beckman in on this as well."

"Ah yes," Payton said, with a knowing roll of his eyes. "Mr. Personality. All right Caine, just stay put at that boat, we'll be over shortly."

"Thank you Captain," Horatio said as the Seattle police captain turned to a pair of uniformed cops and told them to escort the pair as far as the dock. He watched the two depart, looking a bit disgusted. He'd seen too many victims who had been scared out of their senses and Schell Demereau was one of them.

By the time they reached the stairs leading to the dock, reaction was finally getting the better of Schell. Tears had formed and were silently rolling down her cheeks, causing her to reach up with her fingers to wipe them away. Silently, Horatio just handed her his handkerchief, keeping her close to him as they headed for the boat. He told the two uniforms which one they'd be on and they took up station to keep anyone from approaching the dock.

As they got on board, he asked her for the keys which she got and he let them into the cabin. She looked utterly drained and miserable as she moved into the cabin and stopped, looking around blankly, still clutching his overcoat around her. Shutting the door behind him, he turned to her, blinking, his eyes everywhere but on her for the moment and trying to come up with something to say as he fingered the keys.

"Schell I…" he started, reaching over to set her keys on the nav station table. A sharp twinge above his hip caused him to wince and he frowned, pulling aside his jacket.

His surprise and her inwardly drawn gasp collided at the same time. Starkly visible against the white of his shirt was a growing bright red stain. He looked at his side in astonishment before he looked back up to see her hand sliding over her mouth in horror. Seeing a grey pallor sweep into her face he said calmly and quickly, "Schell, get me your first aid kit."

She couldn't take her eyes off the bloodstain and fresh tears welled in her eyes as he gingerly took off his jacket.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he said. "Go get it for me, please?"

Slowly, she forced herself to take her gaze off the bloodstain, and then dropped his coat on the kitchenette table, moving towards the boat's head, Horatio's voice having cut through the fog that had threatened to send her into a dead faint. She came back moments later as he was carefully pulling his shirt tails out of his pants.

"Do me a favour and get me some wash cloths and maybe some very hot water, all right?" he asked, glancing at her.

"Y-yeah…" she finally said in a cracked whisper, and turned for the galley, setting the first aid kit on the nav table.

His hiss of pain, caused her to snap her head towards him as he tried to examine his hip, but he couldn't see the wound well enough so he began unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm gonna need your help with this," he said as she put a small pot of water on her stove. He watched her swallow nervously before she glanced at him. He pulled aside his shirt, grit his teeth and looked down at his wound.

"All right, all right…" he said to her, "It's just a scratch, and a bloody one, but I'm all right, okay?" He looked at her, "Bring me a wet cloth?"

Soaking one, she handed it to him, as he continued to examine the furrow ploughed in his side. "Have you got any alcohol or hydrogen peroxide?" he asked.

"Yeah, I have both." she said, and turned for the head again.

On her return he looked at her with a wry smile, "This is what I get for not wearing my gun."

She frowned, blinking in confusion as she set the two bottles down on the nav table. "What?" she asked, looking confused.

Horatio began wiping away at the blood. "I can just bet if I had my gun in its normal place, it would have deflected the bullet that caused this," he commented.

"Oh… gawd!" Schell breathed in despair, looking at him cleaning his wound as further realization sank in. She slowly sat in the chair, looking at him. "This is all because of me."

Horatio paused in his cleaning, looking at her. "That's nonsense," he said gently then nodded at the first aid case. "Open that up for me?" She blinked a few times, trying to change gears then turned towards the kit, opening it up as he returned to his task. "I'm going to need you to get at the back of this," he said.

Schell looked up at him briefly, nodded and reached for the cloth in his hand. He smiled encouragement, and turned for her to see the area. As she began cleaning where he couldn't reach, he let out another hiss, clenched his teeth together and caused her to jump.

"I'm so sorry!" she barely whispered, her hands shaking.

"It's okay, this is a good thing," he reassured, "It's a surface wound, Schell, it's gonna sting like a hell for a while, but at least no medic is involved, that would just lead us to a whole other can of worms." He smiled down at her, as she reached back up, "Just wait until I have you put alcohol on it."

"I don't think I can take much more of this…" she said, swallowing down a bit of nausea.

Horatio nodded, smiling at her with infinite understanding. "I know, Schell, believe me, I know." He reached for a dry cloth and held a hand out for the bottle of alcohol. "Don't worry, I'll do it. Can you get out a couple of those pads, and the tape?" She nodded assent and handed him the bottle.

Each time he hissed, or gasped as he disinfected his wound felt like a like an extra lash across Schell's frayed nerves. Yet in a matter of minutes he had it cleaned up and with her help, anointed with antibiotic cream and bandaged. As she cleaned up their mess, he went forward to get another shirt and heard the sounds of approaching footsteps on the dock. There was also the sound of a heated discussion…


	13. Chapter 13

**13.**

Frowning, Horatio pulled on his shirt and went to the cabin door as someone was knocking on it.

"I'm telling you that is several thousand dollars worth of paintings in that studio! They have to be protected from weather! You can't just take the door and leave them exposed like that!" A man's voice was arguing.

"Sir, it's a crime scene, at this point nothing is going to happen over there without one of us deciding if it's all right or not. You cannot tamper or mess with it, I don't care if it's full of gold from Fort Knox." Payton was saying as he entered the cabin. He looked up in time to see the pad of bandages on Horatio's side disappear as he buttoned up a blue shirt.

"Caine?" he asked sharply, looking at the redhead.

"Schell!" the stranger behind Payton asked, interrupting, "Schell? You've got to tell them what those paintings are worth! You know better than them what exposure can do!"

Schell, still visibly rattled had backed into the galley as Payton, the stranger and a sour looking Beckman filled the now crowded salon.

"What the hell is this, Caine!" Payton asked, concern sharpening his voice, as he stared him in the eyes.

"Nothing to write home about." Horatio said patiently as he buttoned his shirt. He was looking past Payton at the stranger. "All the same, one of our perps bullets probably has a piece of me on it somewhere. I've got my shirt in there for evidence." He tipped his head to indicate the bunks.

"They nailed you?" Beckman snapped.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that." Horatio smiled, gently beginning to tuck his shirt tails in. "I just discovered it. That should tell you something." He said to Payton, with a smile.

"We should have a medic in here to examine that…" Payton started. Horatio frowned, shaking his head.

"No need, we cleaned it up," he smiled at Schell, who was desperately trying to become invisible in the galley. "Schell would you have a clean sack that we can put my shirt into?"

She nodded, and searched as Horatio looked at the stranger again.

Payton sighed in disgust, and turned slightly. "Lieutenant Caine, this is Randall Thorpe, he owns the boat, and apparently the paintings in the studio."

Horatio extended a hand, noticing Payton's reserve in introductions.

"Lieutenant?" Thorpe said in confusion as he shook hands.

"Miami-Dade PD." Beckman growled, looking for a place to sit down, he finally sat down on the steps leading into the salon.

"Miami?" Thorpe exclaimed and looked at Schell.

"Off duty." Horatio said by way of explanation. "Came here for a convention."

"And got a little bit more than you bargained for." Beckman growled.

"Carl…" Payton growled back and nearly rolled his eyes.

"Schell, the paintings…" Thorpe started.

"Mr. Thorpe…" Horatio started as Schell found a bag and sidled past all the men. She handed it to Horatio then sat down on the starboard settee. "We understand your concern regarding the paintings, but I really think you should shift your focus to the painter."

"What!" Thorpe snapped.

"Mr. Thorpe," Payton said with a weary patience. "Somebody in the last four days has twice tried to kill 'your' painter, and you're concerned about the paintings?" he turned and looked at the man, causing Horatio to duck his head, smiling in mirth. He turned then, retrieved his bloodied shirt, carefully folded it and slipped it into the bag.

"Well I…" Thorpe started and was stopped by Payton raising his hand.

"Can the explanation. If you want to do something about it, get a hold of a contractor who can give you a new door on less than a days' notice, tell the lab techs over at the studio that I said you could replace the door, because that door is going back to the labs with us. As for the studio, it's still considered a crime scene so you do not have permission to take or remove anything. All you can do is have the door replaced. Am I clear?"

"Yes but…" Thorpe started to protest.

"Do what you can…" Payton said clearly dismissing the man and nodding at Beckman to get up to let the man out. "Now if you don't mind, I have some official business to take of with 'your' painter and the Lieutenant."

"But…"

"Mr. Thorpe," Payton said with a touch of warning. Thorpe looked disgusted, and appealed to Schell.

"Schell, tell them about those paintings!"

Payton shooed Thorpe to leave as Horatio, glad to let the Seattle Captain take the lead on the case, sat down next to her on the settee, where he rested his arms and laced his fingers together on the table top.

Ushering Thorpe out, with protests, Payton finally returned, shutting the cabin door.

"Carl, make yourself useful, get a pot of coffee going for us, if you don't mind?" Payton looked at Schell inquiringly. She nodded assent. The Captain sat down on the nav station chair and looked at the pair on the settee.

"Thorpe's gonna have a whale of time getting someone in there to replace a door, I don't care how much money he has," he said with mirth then he smiled. "Well this has been a helluva morning!"

"Amen to that." Horatio said and looked at Schell, with a slight smile.

"What I want to know is, how did Thorpe find out about this shooting so fast?" Beckman growled from the galley. Horatio blinked a few times, and looked at Payton, who was pulling out his notebook.

"That's an interesting question," Horatio commented, looking at Schell, an eyebrow raised in inquiry.

"I never called him. Not at this hour in the morning." She said quietly as Payton glanced at her.

"Phone records will verify that." Beckman said.

"Sure," she said and looked wearily at Horatio. He smiled, reaching over to squeeze her hand in reassurance.

"Captain, you might be interested in knowing that I wrote up both of our statements on her computer last night, if we can print them out I'd like her to look it over, and I will sign mine concerning the events that happened on the ferry and what we discussed concerning Paul Hirsch. Any word on him yet?" Horatio asked.

"No none, and that is mighty kind of you. Sure as hell saves us having to transcribe from our notes. However, we have today to discuss." Payton said and looked inquisitively at Schell as Beckman returned to sitting on the stairs.

"I know it's been a little traumatic, Miss Demereau, but why don't you go ahead and get us started, then we can work on you," he looked at Horatio with a mischievous glance before focusing his attention on Schell.

"It's all right, just tell him what you know, everything." Horatio said, squeezing her hand again before sitting back, and watching the proceedings. He idly picked at the edges of his fingernails and listened attentively.

It was long and it was grueling, but Horatio gave high marks to the Seattle captain for his tact and diplomacy, despite Beckman glowering from the stairs. By the time Payton had finished, he had not only what Horatio had typed but several pages worth of notes from the latest event. Then he turned his questioning on to Horatio, who proceeded to give a very in-depth and detailed account of what he knew.

All this time, uniformed policemen, the occasional detective and several crime scene investigators called in on the boat, which Payton sent Beckman to deal with. During one of these pauses in questioning, Payton heard what Horatio had to say concerning Beckman's behavior and was reassured that the detective's leash was getting shortened.

Finally, as the session wound down, Payton told them to just be available to come in to the department headquarters in case they needed anything more, and reassured both Horatio and Schell that someone would be patrolling the docks, that their safety was now of utmost importance. He also verified from Horatio that he wasn't leaving Seattle for several days yet.

At last the two left. As Horatio saw them off the boat, he moved a little stiffly, unconsciously setting his hand against his side as he walked with the two men up the dock. On his return he saw that Schell hadn't moved, still sitting on the settee but with her head turned to gaze out the starboard porthole.

"You," he said as he shut the cabin door behind him. "You need something to eat."

There were dark smudges of fatigue under her eyes as she turned her gaze to him. Wearily she shook her head no. "I couldn't…" she murmured softly.

Horatio studied her thoughtfully for a moment, before moving to gather up all the coffee cups and set them in the sink. He came back into the salon and sat back down where he had been during Payton's interview and gave a gentle sigh. The peacefulness of the boat, now minus its crowd, settled back in around them.

"What would you like to do?" he asked her softly.

Schell, who had returned to look out the porthole, turned her head slightly towards him and said. "I'd like not to think."

His lips twitched in a smile as he studied her thoughtfully. "Too bad there's not a switch huh?" he asked.

She smiled a little, nodding her head, still not looking his way as she gazed about the salon. "Why does everything feel so strange?" she asked in a plaintive voice. An expression of loss appeared on her face.

Horatio blinked a few times, his own expression going slowly blank. He reached over and picked up her hand in both of his, causing her to watch what he was doing. He seemed to be examining her fingers minutely, gently holding her hand in one of his while the other idly stroked the back of her hand.

It was such a curiously intimate gesture, and when she lifted her gaze to his face, he suddenly couldn't meet hers, but he didn't stop his action with her hand. He swallowed, trying to speak, dropping his head a moment before he gently squeezed her fingers and looked at her shyly.

"We've…" he started to say, paused and went on, "We've been cooped up in here all day, what do you say we go for a walk?"

"A walk?" she asked. "What about your side?"

"It's fine and you shouldn't be worrying about it."

"But you got it because you were protecting me…"

"That's what I do," he replied simply.

"It's bad enough you've nearly drowned because of me but getting shot at too?" she whispered. "If who ever is doing this kills you…" her eyes met his gaze.

"It won't happen," he said quietly, enclosing her hand in both of his. "I won't let it. And you shouldn't be taking on the guilt for this. This is not your fault, Schell. Somebody is doing this to you… and now they are trying to do it to me, but I won't let them. I won't let them do it to either one of us."

Schell gazed at him for a few moments, and he could see her wrestling with the dilemma. He smiled at her and slid out of the settee, tugging on her hand.

"Come on, let's get out of here for a little bit."

"All right," she said softly and sighed.


	14. Chapter 14

**14.**

It was drizzling lightly as they started up the dock, Horatio bundled into his black overcoat and Schell wearing a long, green, wool one. Schell's weary mind registered that it was rapidly getting dark and she realized that Payton and Beckman had been interviewing the both of them nearly all day. There was still a small hive of activity going on around the studio so Horatio nodded towards the distant marina offices. As they mounted the stairs leading to the parking lot, he spotted the single patrol unit parked nearby and ambled over to the tell the two policemen inside what they were going to do.

As the halogen lights of the parking lot were beginning to flicker on, the mist swirled about aimlessly in the beams as the two slowly made their way down Shilshole Marina. They followed the sidewalk that separated the docks from the parking lot. The roar of traffic, and accompanying horns, seemed muted as the lapping of waves --against boats, docks and the seawall-- coupled with the other sounds of a marina seemed to dim out rush hour.

Neither spoke, lost in their own thoughts as they walked. Horatio noted that it was rather colder then he thought and a concerned glance from Schell told him she was noticing him hunkering into his coat.

"I'm afraid I've grown thin-blooded." He said to her questioning look. "It's a lot warmer in Miami then it is here."

"We can always go back," she started.

He just smiled a little and shook his head no. "It feels nice to get out and stretch my legs, besides a good long walk will warm us up."

"So how warm is it there now?" she asked, looking away out over the marina.

"Oh, right around 70° to 80° during the day and humid. Which is why I'm feeling the chill a little a more."

"Tell me a little about it?" she asked, reaching up to tuck a strand of her white hair behind her ear.

"Miami? Well," he paused and she glanced over to see a hint of mischievousness in his blue eyes. "It's buggy."

"Buggy?"

"Bugs, lots of them. Spiders, Fire ants, love bugs in March and October, fireflies, mosquitoes and roaches. The mosquitoes are known to run off with family pets."

"That's appealing," she said dryly and he was rewarded with the first smile he'd seen on her the entire day.

"The Palmetto bugs are something to behold," he commented.

"Palmetto bugs?"

"Roaches the size of my hand," he said holding up his own with his long fingers splayed.

"No way," She said looking at him for signs of teasing.

"Way," he responded with a deadpanned look then a slight twist of his head, before another mischievous smile twitched his lips in amusement. "They also fly. And then we have these things called alligators…" He looked at her with glint of mirth in his eyes.

"Maybe I better rethink this commission," she replied.

"And miss walking on miles of sandy beaches? It's some of the best beachcombing in the world. Then there's road trips down the Overseas Highway to the Keys and Key West. Short cruises to the Bahamas. Some spectacular Keys to go sailing in and around. Airboating in the Glades. Dinner cruises around Biscayne Bay or out around Key Biscayne. Then there are the sunsets…" he added smiling softly. "Can't really beat a Florida sunset."

"Now that sounds more appealing. What did you do? Swallow the state tourism book, Lieutenant?"

Horatio chuckled, glad to hear the humour in her voice, "It's worth it. Miami's a very international city. It's full of great ethnic diversity, like Little Havana, Little Haiti, Bahamian, Nicaraguan, Asian, you name it. "

"You're fond of it aren't you?"

"Yes, yes I am," he paused a moment then looked at her curiously. "Schell, when are you supposed to be moving there?"

"End of April, why?"

"Is there any possibility that moving date can be changed? Can you go earlier?" He asked.

"I have commitments, Horatio…" Schell said slowly, frowning a little in thought as she scrunched her shoulders. "At this stage the paintings can't be rushed…. But I don't know. I'd have to contact my rep with the Florida commision to see. Why?"

Horatio glanced at her, shrugged and replied, "Seems logical if we want to shake off or flush out whoever is trying to do this to you, to move you sooner then expected." He pointed out.

She paused, not speaking as she mulled over his words. "I suppose I could call the rep and see what they say. I'd still have to finish up what's here though."

"Understood. Moving sooner might not be such a bad idea…" He studied her a moment, seeing that she was still considering what he suggested. She looked at him again, uncertainty on her face.

"Let me think on it." she said, looking troubled. He nodded and they lapsed into silence again as they approached the marina offices. Once there they turned and began ambling back the way they had come.

"How…" she started, speaking softly, "How do people handle this stuff? The fear, the worry, the stress…?" She sighed, trying to relax her shoulders as she watched the play of lights on the water. "How should I deal with this? I've never…" her voice trailed off, and he could see her distress as well as hear it.

"Everyone is different, Schell," he said gently, shook his hand loose from his overcoat pocket and reached over to take hers. "I know your frightened, and worried, but you've got a shoulder to lean on here. You don't have to face this alone." He glanced at her, and added with a wistful smile. "And I've lots of experience dealing with this."

"Mighty big shoulders," she commented as he gently pulled her closer, laced his fingers with hers then slipped her hand into his pocket, trying to keep warm.

"They can handle it," he said and smiled, looking out across the parking lot.

"After all that's happened, I am still surprised you haven't packed your bags and headed home."

"It's against my nature to run from trouble."

"No…" Schell mused thoughtfully. "I suppose its not."

"Besides…" he said, blinking a couple of times, glancing towards her, then off down the sidewalk they were walking on. "You've added an interesting diversion to an otherwise typical convention weekend." That shy smile ghosted across his lips again as he added, "I'm not complaining."

"Even after nearly drowning and getting shot?"

"Even after that."

"You're a glutton for punishment."

He snorted softly in amusement, "More then you will ever know."

They lapsed into a companionable silence for a few moments, before he asked, "Tell me about that big painting?"

"The sideways one?" she asked.

He nodded, "The sideways one. How did you work on something that big?"

"I painted it sideways," she replied, then smiled a little at the look he gave her. "Did you see any stepladders in there? That painting is nearly twelve feet tall."

"And you painted it with the canvas laying sideways?"

"If Michaelangelo can paint the Sistine Chapel on his back, I can paint a shipwreck sideways."

Horatio chuckled, his face softening with his smile. "All right, I'll give you that one. That is interesting though."

"So is the ship. She's the Glenesslin. She was built in Liverpool 1885, and proceeded to make several speed records which still stand today. She wrecked at Neahkanie Beach, on the Oregon coast in October of 1913. Her crew was drunk at the time. Up against the wreck of the Peter Iredale, she's one of Oregons' most famous wrecks. That particular painting is going in the foyer of the new Oregon Maritime Museum."

"You do your research," he commented, approval in his voice.

Schell nodded, smiling to herself. "Pays well to study your subject, and get pictures when you can. I've several of the different Oregon wrecks. They're packed at the moment though."

In the parking lot, not very far away, one of the commercial fishermen going home for the night started up his rather old vehicle, which promptly backfired in protest.

Schell nearly jumped out of her skin, her fingers clamping down hard on Horatio's as she gasped in surprise, a wild look flashing across her face. Horatio, startled as well, moved to cover her as his head snapped around for the source. Reason kicked in as his hearing told him it was not gunfire and he spotted the old car, idling roughly as the fisherman made ready to leave.

They were facing one another, Horatio's back to the parking lot. "It's okay…" he reassured, shaking loose his hand, and reaching up for her shoulders. "It's just the car," he nodded towards it as she reached both hands up to her face, shaking like a leaf.

She turned from him, taking in a deep breath of air, her hands covering her nose and mouth as she struggled for composure. "Look at me!" she said agitated, wiping tears from her cheeks with her fingertips. "I'm a nervous, freaking wreck…"

Horatio looked at her in compassion, seeing her struggle with the tangle of wanting to hold up against an extraordinary circumstance, and the inevitability of not being able. Reaching up, he carefully looped back the longer strands of her hair behind her ear. "Schell," he murmured. "It's been a long, hard day, you need to let off some of that stress."

He pulled her to him, and she cast a pleading look at him, still holding her hands to her face before she let out a soft protest of denial. Drawing her in close, she reluctantly began to cry. As he wrapped his arms around her, a fleeting look of uncertainty flashed across his face before he cradled her head to his chest, murmuring reassurances in her ear.

Standing there, his large body shielding hers, Horatio let her weep.

After some time, Schell --feeling drained and worn out-- simply let herself soak in the attention he was giving to her. She had slipped her arms around his waist, had closed her eyes, and heaved a gentle sigh of relief.

"Better?" he asked softly, hesitant yet to move. Schell just nodded her head, not willing to speak. She was acutely aware of how very warm and safe it felt to be held.

"Sure?" he asked.

"Yeah…" she reluctantly pulled a hand free and wiped off the remaining tears on her face with her fingertips. Horatio smiled a little, rubbing her arm with one hand as he tilted his head to look at her face. "Thank you…" she whispered, looking at him shyly.

"My pleasure," he murmured, reaching up to tuck back another lock of her hair. He seemed to play with the strands between his fingers a moment, examining the colours that reflected off her white hair from the myriad lights of the marina.

Schell saw a wistful smile drift across his features, before he focused on her again. For a few moments they just studied each other before he blinked a few times and looked away, holding her tighter for just a moment longer.

"We just crossed a line, didn't we?" she asked in a very soft voice.

Horatio blinked again, an eyebrow rising a little as he nodded. "Uh huh."

She looked down, minutely studying one of the buttons on his shirt, and unable to speak. His hands rubbed her arms, before settling on her shoulders as he took a deep breath, Schell had noticeably tensed under his hands.

Finding her voice she stammered, "I umm, I'm sorry, I will totally understand if you…" she started and attempted to pull back away from him.

"Schell…" he said quietly, cutting her off, his hands stopped her from pulling away. She glanced up at him then, and for a fleeting moment he got a good hard look at a deep well of sorrow and despair, before she looked away, closing her eyes and sighing. His hand reached up, lifting her chin to face him again.

"Listen, okay?" he asked. "Just listen.." It tore at him to see the turmoil which further darkened her eyes. "All right?" he asked again, and waited. She paused, met his gaze and nodded.

"Don't jump to conclusions," he said slowly, "Just listen a moment to what I have to say." He gazed at her expectantly. She tried to look away from him again, reaching up a shaking hand to pull the hair away from her face. A sniff, a struggle for composure, then another sigh. His fingers gently nudged her chin up to face him again.

"Right now," he murmured softly. "You are very vulnerable. Ah ah…" he remonstrated with care as she pulled her head away and dropped her gaze down, hiding eyes that were filling with tears again, "Just listen, Schell, please?" He waited as she reached up to clutch her arms, struggling with herself. After a moment he reached back and nudged her to face him again, this time setting his hand on her cheek. He gave her a very tender smile.

"You are very vulnerable at the moment, Schell," he said again, "And it would be against everything I have ever learned and believed if I were to take advantage of you right now," he studied her, choosing his words carefully. "Things are complicated enough with out adding more to it. Do you understand?"

Trying to hold herself together and seeming to crawl back in on herself, she nodded.

"Right now, you need a good friend, someone who can help you through what it is you've been facing, and I am more than willing to do that," he said.

He was glad to see her thinking over what he said and after a long pause she asked in a low whisper. "And after?"

"After?" he said quietly, another wistful smile drifting across his lips. He waited until she looked up at him. "After, we'll see how things are."

Schell carefully considered his words.

"You're hurting enough already, Schell," he continued. "If I were to take advantage of you at this point I would end up adding to that hurt and I simply will not do that."

He reached up and cupped her face in both his hands, smiling at her with infinite care. "So for now, let me just be a friend, let me take you home, make us something to eat and relax. Okay? Can you do that?"

After a long, long pause, as she studied his face, dwelling on his words, she finally nodded aquiescence. "I'd be the biggest idiot on the planet to say no to you. You are this close…" She said quietly as she held up thumb and index finger with the tips pinched together, "This close to being to good to be true."

A faint smirk, more self mocking then anything else, crooked one side of his mouth. "Some people would definitely disagree with you on that point," he said. She smiled a little then, heaved another sigh, dropping her head as he drew her back to him in warm hug.

"I'm so damned tired," she whispered wearily, as he cradled her head, setting his cheek against her hair. Horatio smiled, rubbed her back then broke loose, tugging her arm carfully around his waist as they started back towards the boat.

"Time to go back, it's cold, I'm hungry and we've had a long day," he said. Schell looked out over the parking lot towards the quarantined studio.

"It sure has been…" she murmured.


	15. Chapter 15

**15.**

Horatio Caine revealed to Schell a small fact not a lot of people knew about him. He really was an excellent cook. She hadn't really noticed, in the course of events, what it was he had purchased at the store, but to her surprise he produced two cuts of beef fillets, (which he had had pounded thin), some deli-sliced Proscuitto, and Mozzarella. Layering the three ingredients, he had rolled, then floured, and sautéed them. "Saltimboca…" he had explained, "Really very simple. Something my grandma used to make." With the steaks he made linguine in a butter sauce, a salad --which Schell insisted on helping to prepare-- and garlic bread.

She revealed that she had spent time in Europe studying some of her favourite artists, Alphonse Mucha, (the father of Art Nouveau) in Prague, Czechoslovakia. Ivan Aivazovsky--famous for the very painting subject that was her passion-- near the Crimea, and having the pleasure of meeting the current reigning master of maritime paintings; Geoff Hunt in Britain. At 'home' she had studied the works of Howard Pyle, the Wyeths and Maxfeild Parrish. Apparently her schooling plus a year studying abroad had been paid for by what had been left to her from her grandpa's estate.

The tension that had been between them had seemed to ease, allowing both to open up a little about themselves. She learned he was half-Irish and half-Italian, which both chuckled over being quite the combination of fire and even more fire… neither being sure which caused the more heat.

By the time dinner was over, he could see that Schell was waging a loosing battle with fatigue. Suggesting that maybe it was time for her to retire for the night led to a few protests about leaving him with the dishes after he had cooked the meal. His persuasion won over and as he washed up, she vanished into the master bedroom.

It was when he had finished up, drying a last dish that he turned and noticed no sound coming from the room, but that the door was still open and the light was on. He frowned a little, put the dish away, set the rag aside and approached her door.

He rapped first, before cautiously sticking his head in the room…

She was just sitting there, on the edge of the bed, her fingers woven together and wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a dark blue t-shirt at least two sizes too big. He looked at her inquisitively as she glanced up from staring at the floor.

"Schell?" he asked.

She smiled sheepishly and looked back down. He could see she was trying to work up the courage to ask something.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm…" she started to say, smiled at herself mockingly, and drew in a steadying breath of air. "I'm probably asking too much of this."

"Too much of what?" he asked.

"Too much of you, you've done just so much already…" she said quietly. He studied her a moment, smiling softly.

"What would you like?" he asked.

She toyed with her fingers a moment, before glancing at him shyly. "Um, I…" she sighed, her shoulders dropping before she finally asked, in a low voice, "Would it be too much to ask you to just stay here with me until I fall asleep?" She looked up at him cautiously.

Horatio paused a moment, studying her.

"I'm still that scared… I'm just so tired, and probably asking way too much, but I know I can't get to sleep after all that's happened…and I am not thinking straight at…." she found herself rambling and glanced up seeing him move out of the door, saying nothing.

"Oh gawd! You idiot…" she groaned quietly to herself, burying her face in her hands. She heaved a sigh, hearing him moving about the salon. She dropped her hands, hung her head, and bit her lip. She was struggling with herself, when she heard the light switch being flicked off in the galley and he reappeared in the doorway, shirt tails untucked and holding a blanket.

"Slide over…" he said.

She obeyed without a word, scooting closer to the bulkhead, pulling her own blankets up over her as he spread his out over them both. He stretched out with a sigh, as she turned onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. He flipped his own blanket over himself then laced his fingers behind his head and looked at her.

Schell looked at him for a moment, before smiling softly and looking at the blankets. "Thank you…" she murmured.

"Only until I know you're asleep…." he said quietly. She smiled a little more, and blushed.

"Okay," she nodded.

Then he smiled at her, gingerly rolled onto his injured side and mimicked her own position. "Don't take this for what its gonna sound like…" he said, trying to hide a slight smile on his face. "But just humour me and roll over onto your stomach."

Schell looked at him for a split second, an eyebrow rising in surprise, but then she snickered very softly and did as he asked, folding her arms under her chin she glanced at him, a slightly puzzled look on her face. Horatio nodded in satisfaction, then reached over and lifted her hair, settling it over her shoulder. He set his free hand on the nape of her neck, feeling the knots of tension there, as she looked askance at him.

"You aren't gonna last ten minutes…" he murmured, as he began to work his fingers into the muscles around her neck.

With a groan, Schell dropped her head forward, allowing his hand more access as she sagged into the bed. "I'm not gonna last five with this…" she managed to speak, sighing at the exquisite feel of having the tension rubbed out of her neck. Horatio only chuckled softly as she turned her head away from him, closed her eyes and sagged even more.

Nothing more was said as he massaged her neck and shoulders for a few minutes, other then Schell's sigh of relief. When he gently patted her back, she murmured, "I think you just turned me into a human puddle."

He had to lean over her to reach the light and he said quietly into her ear. "That was the idea."

Schell gently snickered, as he turned the light off. With the room plunging into darkness, he gently pulled her to him, her back to his chest, as he held her close. She was about to say something when he stopped her, "Shh," he hushed quietly, "Just close your eyes…"

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could barely make out the faintest smirk on her lips and she groggily murmured "Yes, Lieutenant…"

He chuckled in her ear, setting his head on hers and waited.

She barely lasted three minutes.

Feeling her relax in his arms, he propped his head back up and watched her as her breathing slowed to even breaths and she slipped off to a deep sleep. His intention was to move to the foreward bunk after she was completely out. He was as acutely aware of her proximity as she was his, yet to just lay there next to someone --after far too long a time-- was not to be passed up. He studied her a while, in the dim light, her features relaxed in sleep. With her unusual white hair, Schell had an ethereal prettiness about her and he allowed himself to simply just enjoy looking at her.

He, too was also tired, though not as much as Schell. Even so, Horatio was as close to being an insomniac as could be possible, considering his life, his job and the various horrors he had had to deal with during his entire career. That alone contributed to sleepless nights without number. As was his habit therefore, he began systematically reviewing--in his head-- the series of events and occurrences that he had encountered since meeting her. The scientist in him being exceptionally thorough at remembering details.

Feeling his arm going numb, he carefully shifted, wincing at the twinge of pain in his side. He idly wondered why it was injuries tended to hurt more at night when one was trying to relax enough to go to sleep. Accomodating his arm, he leaned over closer to Schell, holding her nearer to him, his fingers lightly stroking the soft skin under her wrist. He smiled a little, feeling wistful and not a little envious that she had dropped off to sleep so fast, then again, the poor thing was exhausted.

He was, in general, satisfied that Payton had taken the investigation's lead. His doing so probably was more for the fact that Horatio was now involved and as a visiting policeman from out of town, the professional courtesy was being extended. That allowed Horatio to relinquish his need to figure out the case on his own, and allowed him to concentrate on protecting Schell from any further danger.

Yet something was niggling him at the back of his mind and it wasn't about to leave him alone. Ironically (and to Horatio's amusement), it was Beckman himself who had first raised the question. He slipped his hand under Schell's fingers, lifting them up a little to study them again. She was a compact little furnace, he noticed, settling in closer, which wasn't a bad thing since he was something of a heat seeker in Seattle's far cooler climate. He let go of her fingers long enough to tug his blanket up around his neck as he sighed and relaxed.

How had Randall Thorpe known about the shooting at the studio so fast? Beckman's voice echoed in Horatio's skull. He frowned, not a bad question considering how lazy Beckman generally was. Just how had Thorpe found out about it? Considering his money and his clout, he had managed to find a contractor to put in a new door for the studio. A uniformed policeman having delivered the new keys to the boat while Payton was interviewing them. Horatio began reviewing the events from the time he had opened the studio door, to diving after Schell and dragging her to cover, to the police arriving after his call. In essance it hadn't taken Thorpe more then 20 minutes to arrive at the marina.

Schell had mentioned that Thorpe would drop by the studio on occasion in the mornings to see how the works progressed, but at around six in the morning? Schell had nixed that idea, saying he was more inclined to arrive around 10:30 to 11:00am.

So what had prompted Thorpe to get up so early? Shrewed in the habits of men, Horatio guessed that there was a sense of guilt lurking in there somewhere. Payton needed to know about that and maybe establish Thorpe's whereabouts for the last few days. Horatio heaved a sigh, reaching up to rub at his aching eyes. He curled Schell's fingers around his hand, and basked a moment enjoying the feel of her lying there next to him. She was such a small, very warm presence. He was thinking that he really didn't want to get up and move, when he closed his eyes just for a moment.

Before he realized it, he was dead asleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**16.**

The ringing of Horatio's cell phone woke him up the following morning. In one smooth roll, he was out of the bed and padding his way to where he had left it in the salon. Schell barely stirred, still very much asleep

He returned a few moments later and carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked a little rumpled as he reached up and ran his fingers through his red hair. Watching Schell sleep, he was loathe to wake her up, but he knew he had to. Turning toward her, ignoring the jab at his side, he reached up and stroked the white hair away from her face. She had at some time rolled over to face him and now she frowned a little, stirring at the contact. She moaned, and curled herself toward him, causing him to smile as he leaned over, bracing his arm on the other side of her. With his free hand, he continued to stroke her hair.

"Hey," he murmured in her ear. A decidedly delicious smile curled her lips impishly causing him to smile down at her as she curled her hands under her cheek.

"You never moved…" she said sleepily.

"Hmmm?" he asked, his fingers stroking the darker grey hair at her temple.

"You said something about going forward, but you stayed put all night." She cracked an eye open, glancing at him.

"I did," he confirmed.

"I know…" she twisted, around looking up at him. "You were sound asleep."

"Been a long time since that's happened," he commented, unable to hide his smile.

Schell studied him for a moment, then she reached over and took his left wrist in her hand, pulling on it to see his watch. It was approaching 7:30AM.

"Haven't slept this late in ages," she said.

"You needed it as well, I'm just sorry I had to wake you," he replied, a look of regret in his eyes. "But I needed to," he added.

"What is it?" she asked.

He glanced at her, his lips pursing a little in a smile, then said, "My cell went off, it was Captain Payton." His eyes revealed the seriousness which drove any lingering sleep straight out of Schell's brain. She sat up, pulling the blankets up around her and looked at him.

"What…" she started to ask as he glanced down, folding his fingers together.

"They found Paul Hirsch this morning."

Just the soft tone and seriousness told Schell enough and Horatio saw the colour slowly drain from her face. He twisted, winced and pulled her to join him, sitting side by side on the bed. He took her hands in his.

"He was found at a warehouse near the Duwamish Head?"

He raised an eyebrow at the pronunciation of the river's name. "Payton wants us both to come down there. They found another man with him."

"Another man?" she asked.

Horatio nodded, and Schell sighed, running her hand through her hair. "I told the captain that we needed some time to get ready, he said that was fine."

She nodded, heaving a sigh, as the few remaining pleasant memories of the night were replaced by that all too familiar knot of fear and worry that seemed to have become a permanent part of her. Horatio smiled slightly, full of regret and leaned over to lightly buss the top of her head.

"Ladies first for the shower. I'll get coffee on," he said and stood up. She sighed again, nodded and looked at his back with her own regrets. She pushed the blankets aside, got up and shut the door after him.

For many years, the main five mile stretch of that small river called the Duwamish, which emptied out in two forks at a place called Terminal Island, had been on the government Superfund clean up list. So long polluted that even several years after having been protected and cleaned up, there were still dangerously high levels of carcinogens in the fish and crabs taken from it. Yet salmon were returning to the river, seals were congregating on nearby barges and even Peter Jennings got caught on national television with an eagle making a spectacular catch; live for all America to see.

Still, Terminal Island was a major staging area for Todd Shipyards, and the Port of Seattle. There were still hundreds of warehouses and storage facilities, the rail yards and a creosote yard that treated logs for future use as telephone poles, railroad sleepers, and pilings. It was still a very industrialized area of Seattle. Nearby was the old West Seattle draw bridge and soaring far above it was the 'newer' four lane bridge which was now a permanent Seattle landmark. Further west, was the tip that marked the beginning of popular Alki Point.

On the drive over, Horatio noticed Schell's nerves were on edge as she rambled a little about how there was at one time an enormous amusement park built on the tip. Luna Park it was called and it had been burnt to the pilings in the late 1920's. Only on very low tides could the old pilings be seen and the treasure hunters would come out, to this day still able to pull the occasional five dollar gold coins from the ooze. She blushed then, apologized for letting herself ramble on and lapsed into silence.

Having given him the general directions, it wasn't very hard to find which warehouse they needed to go to. Several police units had the parking lot blocked off and even more units, plus aid units, the coronor's wagon and several other cars where already there. Horatio pulled up to one of the police cars, rolled down his window and told the suspicious officer that Captain Payton was expecting them. A radio call later and the policeman backed his car up enough to allow Horatio to pull in, before he blocked the entrance after him.

Spotting Rick Turner's car, Horatio pulled in next to it and shut the engine off, he glanced at Schell. She looked wan and pale as she offered him a slight smile, while he toyed with the keys for a moment. "It would probably be best if you waited here for a moment. Let me go in and see if they've cleared a path through the scene, then I'll be right back out to get you, all right?"

She nodded, "All right." she said softly.

He held the keys out to her. "I'll leave these with you in case you get cold," he said as she took them from him. "Just do me a favour and lock the doors after I get out." He smiled at her gently and opened his door. She did as he asked and he heard the door locks pop as he headed for the main entrance, wrapping his long black overcoat around him a little tighter.

Beckman, looking grim, met him at the standard door next to a huge roll up door. Inside the building the main lights had been turned on, flooding the place in light, and as his eyes adjusted, he spotted a group of people, painstakingly going about the job of collecting evidence, and photographing around the body of a man, lying face first in a large dark pool of blood. Further in, toward a enclosed office space was another team around the body of a second man, amongst whom was Payton, and Rick Turner, who was examining the body. Walking carefully around evidnce markers strewn about like scattered autumn leaves, he approached Payton.

"Caine," Payton said by way of greeting, causing Rick to look up and grin.

"Fancy you being here, H…" he greeted, feeling gingerly around the back of the dead man's head.

"What have we got?" Horatio asked, looking the scene and the warehouse over carefully. There were crates and boxes stacked in various areas all over the huge space, in the far corner was a temperature controlled semi-truck container, humming loudly while a group of CSIs were processing in and out of it. Horatio's eyebrow rose in curiosity before Beckman's voice got his attention.

"Got a call come through dispatch at 4:30 this morning," Beckman replied. "Security guard checking the premises spotted his body," he nodded at the dead man closer to the entrance. "He saw the blood pool and called it in immediately, then he secured the place until we got here. Looks like Paul came here," Beckman nodded at the body Rick was carefully examining. "And, for some reason or other, got into it with him. They both shot at each other, at least that's what preliminary investigation is saying."

"Rick?" Horatio asked.

"Paul here died first," Rick said and turned the dead man's head. "Bullet entered at the base of the neck here," with a latex gloved finger he indicated a hole near the man's throat. "No through and through, so the post will locate the bullet no doubt. I suspect it hit the spinal column and was a very fast death." he glanced up at Horatio as he turned the dead detective's head back to a normal position.

"And the other?" Horatio asked, looking that way, his mind racing.

"The other guy is an unknown, straight through and through, though they haven't located the bullet yet. He exsanguinated on the spot and it took a little while. The techs seem to think Paul was the first to shoot, but that's yet to be proven."

Horatio glanced at Payton, questioningly.

"So far all they've found are casings matching Paul's service weapon. The other vic has a gun in his hand, and it's been fired but we've yet to locate the casings and the rounds. This place is big and dark, and full of cubby holes." The captain replied. "Our folks have been here for a while now processing everything."

"So why ask Miss Demereau here?" Horatio asked.

Payton, smirked and jerked his chin at the cargo container. "Because of what's in there. Plus I thought maybe she could identify our stranger. "

Horatio nodded and looked at Rick. "What kind of time frame are we looking at here?"

"Liver temp suggests somewhere around two or three this morning," Rick replied. He glanced at Horatio who was looking thoughtful, before his gaze shifted to the junior M.E.

"Is he ready to be moved yet?" he asked nodding at the stranger.

"Now that I'm finished with Paul, yeah, he should be. I didn't want him moved until I finished here. Why?" Rick asked.

"I just think it would be a be a bit better to have him on a gurney instead of in a blood pool if we're going to have Miss Demereau try to identify him." Horatio pointed out.

Rick chuckled, "Good point!"

"I think we can arrange that, all right to move him too then, Doc?" the junior ME asked Rick.

"Be my guest, might as well bring in both gurneys, let's take Paul out of here." Rick sighed and stood up. "Damned bad way to start a morning, having to pronounce on a guy you know."

"Amen to that…" Horatio said softly as an all too familiar, and still painful, scene passed through his mind with one of his own coworkers.

"Guys?" Rick called out, "Let's take 'em back now."

"While they get them ready, come over and look at this," Payton said, and nodded at the truck container.

The two men started towards the trailer and Horatio judiciously asked, "Have you had time to think about what I said regarding Thorpe earlier?"

"Uh huh…" Payton said with a grin, "It was strange him showing up that fast, I plan on letting Carl loose on him after we get finished up here." He smiled even more when Horatio chuckled. "I have an odd itch where he's concerned."

"I think I've had that itch before…" Horatio commented dryly.

"Any identification on the other guy at all?"

"Other then the Glock 17 in his hand? Not yet, but one of our CSIs is processing a car found around out back. We think its his." Payton replied as they approached the open back door of the trailer. A large portable light had been set up and flooded the interior, while the generator the tempurature controller container was hooked up to continued thrumming with power.

"I suspect that these were what Paul and Miss Demereau stumbled across when she says they found original paintings. Thorpe's concerns about protecting the paintings at the studio from the elements really rang a bell when we opened up this big tin can."

Inside where a great deal of very carefully crated and stored paintings of various different sizes. A few techs were carefully going over them as Horatio looked in, pondering.

"This entire place seems to be a storage area for art; statues, tapestries, paintings, sculptures… you name it. A look in the office shows paperwork indicating they are shifting it from one exhibit to another or storing it for when it goes on display at its next facility. So a lot of it is original stuff, but this batch apparently has no 'paperwork' per sé," Payton commented. "Reading over Paul's notes on the case, it looks like they are stealing works and replacing them with forgeries, then bringing the originals here and selling them illegally to collectors."

"Which would help to explain why Paul brought in Miss Demereau to help identify forgeries from replicas and originals." Horatio commented. "And with the kind of money mentioned it would make an excellent motive to kill…"

"That it would." Payton agreed, "And since Paul was posing as a collector, his cover had to have been blown somehow, and it caught Miss Demereau in the net, as well.

"Question now becomes, who saw them in here and identified them to the man behind all this?"

"Excatly what I've been wondering. We've been trying to locate the owner, but so far we keep running into dummy corporations and getting nowhere."

"Hmmm," Horatio mused.

"Yeah, my thoughts as well, come on over to the office." Payton lead the way again as they carefully made their way around paths 'cleared' for people to walk through in the dead center of a huge crime scene. Horatio was gratified to know that all the stops had been pulled out in investigating the death of a fellow police officer. Miami-Dade would do no less.

Payton led him into the office. It was a typical office, with a bank of file cabinets, a desk, computer, office equipment, etc. There was also a huge quantity of cash on the desk next to the keyboard for the computer.

"I take it robbery was not a motive…" he said dryly as his head calculated how much could possibly be sitting there. With the cash was assorted paperwork.

"This is what indicates they were selling originals on the sly, those notes contain pertinent information about the pieces being stored here and sold. Kind of a slick operation; they store the real objects, someone forges them, they switch the two around and ship the fake off to where the original goes next and most anybody is none the wiser. The original goes black market to the highest bidder."

"Until Paul Hirsch stumbled on the operation." Horatio said quietly, thinking things through. He respected Payton a great deal on his intelligence and thoroughness. "Sounds like things are well in hand though, I think Miss Demereau will be relieved."

"Shall we go get her?" Payton suggested, Horatio pursed his lips slightly and nodded.


	17. Chapter 17

**17.**

Schell couldn't help but notice the buzz of activity as a pair of coroners wagon drew up closer to the warehouse doors, and she shivered in her coat as she waited for Horatio. She had noticed her headache had returned, and to divert her attention from the current proceedings she mentally reviewed what it was she yet needed to do before making a move of the magnitude she was about to make. Moving over 3000 miles was no small undertaking. She wondered if there really was a way to move earlier and decided that getting a hold of the rep for her Florida commision would be the best thing to do.

As she sat there in the car her thoughts drifted back to the previous evening, and how exquisite it had felt to be held by someone, a man, throughout the night. He was so gracious, she thought, then heaved a sad sigh, chastising herself. That feeling of safety and security was not going to last; he eventually had to go home. And even though she was soon to be moving to Miami, who knows where she was going to end up at and he would be back to his normal life. (Which was no doubt on 24 hour call.) Who was she kidding? Schell scowled at herself, hating her flights of fancy.

"Why do we do this to ourselves?" she muttered to herself, rubbing at her aching eyes. The sound of footsteps caused her to look up and check the rearview mirror. Horatio and Payton were approaching the car. Heaving another sigh, she popped the locks and climbed out as Horatio reached for the door, opening it for her. As she stood up he glanced at her, with an eyebrow raised in query, but she said nothing as Payton greeted her.

"Morning, Miss Demereau," the Seattle Captain said, "I appreciate you coming down here, and I know this is going to be unpleasant. If at any time you feel the need to stop, just say so. What I need for you to do is to take a look at one of the men we found and see if you recognize him? All right? Then after words I'd like you to tell me what it was Paul showed you that you identified for him."

Schell nodded her head, tucking a strand of white hair back behind her ear, she glanced uncertainly at Horatio. "I've never been on this side of a crime scene…" she murmured.

He smiled slightly, "It'll be all right. They've made paths for us to walk in. Just don't touch anything when we get inside the building. You just stick with me, I'll guide you through it." She drew in a steadying breath and nodded.

Payton led them to one of the coroners wagon's just as a team was bringing a gurney out. On it a large black body bag lay, and was being escorted by Rick Turner. A quick glance told Horatio it was Paul Hirsch being taken out first and the three paused as the men loaded the body into the back of the wagon. Seconds later the other team came out and Payton stopped them at the back of the second vehicle.

"Are you all right with this?" Payton asked as Carl Beckman appeared in the doorway. Schell shot a quick glance at him, then back at Payton.

"Yeah…" she said softly, aware that Horatio was standing behind her. Payton nodded at one of the attendants, who reached up and unzipped the upper portion of the body bag.

The guy actually looked perfectly normal, she thought to herself in mild surprise, even though it was apparent he was dead. She stared a moment then cast a look at Payton, looking a touch nauseated and apologetic. She shook her head no.

"I don't know who this is," she said regretfully.

"You sure about that?" Beckman growled.

"I don't know who he is," she replied, shooting a dark eyed glare his way. She looked at Payton. "Is the other one…?"

"Paul Hirsch? Yes it is." Payton said gently.

"I'm sorry…" she said distantly, looking troubled, as the attendant zipped the body bag back up. "Paul was a good man…" her voice trailed off as the realization continued to sink in that the detective she had been helping was dead.

"Yeah he was…" Beckman rumbled, fixing his eyes on her, "Too good to end up dead in a place like this."

Horatio saw the frown that crossed Payton's face as he looked at the detective. "Carl…" he started to warn.

"Detective are you insinuating something?" Schell suddenly asked, catching Payton and Horatio by surprise. Horatio licked his bottom lip, looked away suddenly and tried to smother the smirk that was tugging at the corners of his lips. Schell seemed to bristle with a pent up energy.

"You know… over the past five days someone has tried to kill me twice. I've been hospitalized, shot at, nearly drowned, blown up off a boat, threatened with charges and interrogated by the police so much that I can't even think straight anymore." Schell's voice cut through the morning chill like a knife, the tone rising as she stared hard at Beckman. "I can't even enter my own studio to do my work and now I'm standing here having to identify a dead body. I've never even seen a dead person…" her voice abruptly cut off in a choke, and she suddenly struggled for composure.

She tore her gaze away from Beckman, her hand sliding up to cover her mouth as she wrestled with her emotions. She glared back at him, as he stood there with his hands on his hips and glared back at her. "And to have you suggest that I am somehow involved in all this against myself is starting to get beyond credulity! Are you really as Neanderthal as you sound?" She snapped, dropping her hand.

"But you are involved in this aren't you?" Beckman sniped back. "You are the one who identified for Hirsch which items were real and which ones were faked. Somehow or another that information just led to him being carted out of here in a body bag."

"And I am involved with that how!" Schell snapped back, the anger beginning to bubble out, "You tell me how I am involved with that?" She demanded.

Beckman, grimacing in disgust, looked away from her. Schell looked at him with contempt and stepped closer to him, her chin rising in defiance. "Come on? Tell me? You're the big, bad detective, what are your conclusions? What are your accusations? You've been hinting and dodging and implying that I'm more involved in this than I could possibly ever be. What have you found out? Huh? Come on, detective," she spat the word out. "Tell me?"

Beckman jerked his head back around, looking down as Schell took another step closer to him; a small indignant body of barely controlled anger. Her dark blue eyes bored steadily up into his own. The detective was about to open his mouth in retort when Payton stepped in,

"Carl, enough!" he barked sternly. Carl glared at his captain a moment, before he scowled and looked away. Schell just looked at him in disdain and shook her head, looking away as Horatio stepped up behind her, his hand touching the center of her back to nudge her forwards towards the door.

As he passed the stewing Beckman, his eyebrows rose, his blue eyes bright with barely concealed mirth. He smirked at him.

"Neanderthal, " he whispered directly to the man as he leaned towards him, his eyes fixing on his, "I liked that… nice touch!"

"Go to h…" Beckman started when Payton stepped up as Horatio escorted Schell towards the door of the warehouse.

"Say it Carl and I swear to god you'll be sitting at a desk for the next six months." Payton hissed. Beckman glared two seconds at his boss then backed down.

"Sir," he grumbled.

"Go interview the Thorpes." Payton ordered. Beckman sighed in disgust and instantly stalked away towards his vehicle.

Sighing with scorn for one of his men, he approached Schell and Horatio.

"Miss Demereau I apologize for his behaviour, Carl can sometimes be very difficult…" he started to say but Schell only gave him an aggrieved look, looking weary and drained.

"You shouldn't have to apologize for him," she said quietly, her head dropping as she reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "One of your colleagues is dead, I can understand being upset by that."

"Still that's no excuse for his behaviour." Payton replied.

"And it's about time you started getting mad at what is happening to you." Horatio pointed out, causing Payton to smile slightly.

"That's right, and taking it out on Carl isn't such a bad idea." Payton said with a hint of humour, despite their situation. "Shall we go on in?" he asked, indicating the door.

Schell smiled reluctantly, as Horatio led the way to the door.

"Just stick with me, I'll walk you through it," he encouraged, deliberately using himself to block as much of the blood pool from her view as possible.

Payton slipped around them as he led the way inside, heading for the trailer. "Do you recognize the trailer at all?" he asked.

"Yes…" Schell said a little distantly as she swallowed uneasily. "Paul brought me here last week, they had just brought that trailer into the warehouse and he was wondering why it was hooked up to the generator. He said that whoever was running this operation must have been getting ready to do something really major. When he opened up the trailer and I saw what was inside, I knew why it was hooked up the way it was."

"What made the artwork in the trailer more important then the other art that is stored in this place?" Payton asked.

"The paintings in the trailer? Aside from being originals they are incredibly old. I can tell you right now that several of them are from some major museums and I know they don't know that their originals are gone… Some of those painting are from the 18th and 19th centuries. Because of that age, they must be kept at a constant steady temperature or they will suffer irreparable damage."

As they approached the back of the container Schell got a good look at what was inside and nodded. "Yeah, they're all still there. Paul and I must have been in that trailer a good hour or so as he let me take a look at the works in it. There was a Sotheby's encyclopedia in the office and a comprehensive antiques guide, the kind used by appraisers, between those two sources we identified about fifteen of those paintings. He had taken a lot of notes on them."

"I want you to think hard about this next question, Miss Demereau." Payton said, "While you and Paul were in cataloging these paintings, could someone else have come into the warehouse and seen you?"

Schell stopped, turning to look at the Seattle captain a moment, then she glanced at Horatio.

"It was 3:00 in the morning…" she said slowly as the implications of Payton's question sank in. "I…," She stammered and looked confused. "I suppose it's possible," she said softly. "We were in here."

"That's probably when you were made." Payton surmised.

"Uh huh…" Horatio confirmed. "What day was that Schell? In relation to the day you rented the sailboat?"

"Two days before," she said looking at him.

"Time enough and to spare…" Horatio quoted thoughtfully.

Payton nodded. "Come on over to the office, Miss Demereau and show us just what books you consulted. You know I am thinking it might not be a bad idea for you to come on down to the precinct and let us get your fingerprints recorded…"

The look she shot Horatio was one of pure alarm.

"It's to rule you out as a suspect," he explained. "They need to be able to place every fingerprint they find in the proper context. If you can tell the Captain just what it was you touched, that will go a long way to helping them sort the puzzle out." He looked at her expectantly.

"Okay…" she said, letting his information sink in, she glanced at Payton. "I can tell you that they are probably all over the paintings in the truck," she said.

"All right, how about in here?" he asked as he led them into the office.

One of the evidence techs was sitting at the desk, going over the contents, carefully cataloging items on a notebook before he would seal them into bags and envelopes. He was flipping through a rolodesk containing business cards as Schell told Payton just where she had been and what she had touched. She identified the books she had handled as she approached the desk. She was explaining to the captain the purpose of the books in question when she looked at what the lab tech was doing. Her sentence cut off in mid word, as she reached down and laid her hand on the tech's wrist.

"Ma'am?" he asked, stopping what he was doing and looking at her in mild surprise.

"Did you see something?" Payton promptly asked. Schell looked up at Horatio and he could see confusion in her dark eyes.

"Can you flip back a few?" she asked the tech quietly.

A glance at Payton, his nod of assent and the tech smiled. "Sure," he said and began flipping the cards back.

On the third card, Schell's fingers gripped the tech's wrist and she froze, suddenly looking ill. Horatio frowned, as the tech stopped, looking at the two men and Schell in confusion. He leaned over the desk, and read the card.

"Schell?" he asked her softly as she stared at the card in growing horror. She looked back at him, swallowing uneasily. The card was for a 'PNW Nautical Art Collections' with a stylish logo of a clipper ship on stormy waters imposed over crossed paintbrushes. There was a contact number and fax number imprinted on the bottom left corner, but no contact name. Horatio could see realization and dread colliding within her.

"Schell, what is this? Who's card is it?" he asked her. She swallowed again, started to speak and had to clear her throat when nothing came out.

"Horatio," she whispered, in despair, "What have I gotten myself into?"

"Who's card is it, Schell?" he repeated as she glanced down at it again, then looked away.

With anxiety creeping into her words she quietly whispered, "Randall Thorpe. That is Randall Thorpe's business card."


	18. Chapter 18

**18.**

"Do you have this card?" Payton immediately asked, causing Schell to look at him. "Did he give you one?"

"Yes," she replied, and glanced at Horatio. "It's in my handbag, in the car."

"I'll be right back," he said to her and vanished out of the office.

Payton looked at the tech, "Bag and tag that one separately and get on that thing and see if there are any records tied to that company," he said nodding at the computer. The tech moved to obey as Payton fished for his cell phone. Schell moved away, beginning to pace and thinking hard. She was rubbing her arms slowly, looking confused.

"Carl," Payton said as the detective answered the captain's call. "Forget questioning Thorpe at home, bring him to the precinct, we're going to have a little chat with him for a while. Yeah, we got us a good solid lead here."

Horatio suddenly appeared in the doorway again, holding her handbag in one hand and a pair of latex gloves in the other. He handed the bag to her, giving her a reassuring smile and promptly snapped the gloves on. Silently, still shaken, she took her wallet out of the bag, and extracted a dog-eared business card, handing it to him.

"You're going to be fine, Schell…" he said to her quietly, "You may have just provided them with a major break in this case." He nodded at Payton as he flipped the card over and read the back. Randall Thorpe had written his name and a second contact number with a note asking her to call about a special commission. A decidedly feral smile appeared on his lips as he turned around and picked up the business phone receiver.

Still looking uncertain, she watched as he dialed the first number on the card she had given him, which he held carefully by its edges. Careful not to make any physical contact with the phone (other then his latex-gloved hands), he listened to the answering machine and shot a glance at Payton, who was watching him.

"Answering machine identifies Thorpe as the owner," he said, cutting the line before he could leave a message.

"Carl's going to bring him down to the precinct, want to watch?" he asked. Horatio, beckoning to the tech for a envelope, looked at the Captain.

"I can't be allowed in the room, Captain, you know that." Horatio said, but he wasn't hiding the predatory smile on his face. He slipped Schell's card into the envelope and handed it to the tech.

"Didn't say in the room, Lieutenant…" Payton grinned, "I said watch."

Horatio looked at Schell, "We need to go down there anyway," he said to her. She looked at him, saying nothing and nodded. Horatio could see, far back in her eyes, the beginning of a storm. Tucking his chin in, he smiled as he cast a glance at Payton.

"Might as well follow you…" Payton said as Horatio let Schell walk ahead of him out of the office. "We'll take the time to get those fingerprints taken while you're there too, Miss Demereau, and I might add that your cooperation has been extremely helpful."

"Thank you," she murmured, tucking a strand of hair away.

Payton smiled at her as a tech, coming from outside called out for him. "Hey boss? I think we got an ID for our other vic."

"I'll go check this out and meet you down at the PD." Payton said, to which Horatio nodded.

"Are you all right?" he asked Schell softly as they stepped outside. She looked at him, her eyes dark with turmoil.

"What would Randall have to do with this? What has he done to me?" She whispered, searching his face. "My god, I've been working three years on commissioned pieces for him and now this?"

"It might be an excellent idea for you to get a hold of a good lawyer. One who specializes in fraud. They can take a great deal of the worry off of you. It's part of their job, believe it or not." Horatio suggested. "Plus they can help you through this process when this case gets wrapped up and goes to trial."

She looked at him steadily a moment, then sighed, still looking troubled, she glanced around the lot, hearing the roar of the upper West Seattle freeway. "Too much to think about…" she said quietly. He smiled gently.

"I can understand that," he said and opened the car door for her.

It took a while for the Seattle Police Department to get around to fingerprinting Schell. Both of them needed required visitor badges to get anywhere in the building, then they had to wait for a technician to do the work. By that time Schell was worn out. Horatio, sticking with her throughout the process, managed to track down some coffee and some aspirin, seeing the pinched corners of her mouth and deducing that her head was killing her. He waited as the tech finished the last of Schell's Ten-card, then he asked if the tech had any towelettes. Grinning the tech even pulled a few from her lab coat.

"I keep 'em on hand just for this! But only for the folks who are nice about it," she grinned mischievously.

Horatio chuckled at her, "Best things in the world for ink removal," then he smiled companionably and looked at Schell, who (to his bemusement) was staring at her black fingertips with distaste. He smiled, tucking his chin in and tore one open for her as the tech thanked her for her cooperation.

Thanking him, she wiped her fingers clean as he murmured, "I got you these too," and he set a little packet of aspirin on the counter next to her cup.

"I'd give anything to be home right now…"

"Soon," he smiled, "After this and something to eat. Got an idea for dinner?"

"Like I could eat right now?" she asked, finishing her fingertips and dropping the towelette in the nearest trash bin.

"Part of that headache is lack of food…" he admonished softly, spotting Payton coming towards them down the hall. "There's the Captain."

Schell glanced his way as she tore open the aspirin packet and took them, gingerly sipping the coffee.

"Headache?" he asked as he approached.

"Still recovering from the other day." Horatio replied as she gratefully drank her coffee.

"Oh yes…" Payton said and looked sympathetically at her. "I see Lisa got you all squared away?"

"Yeah, thank you Captain." Schell said.

"Well, come on over to my office, we're still waiting on Carl to bring in Thorpe. I thought I'd bring you up to date on what the techs found in that strange car out back of the warehouse."

"Any information on our other body?" Horatio asked as they trailed after Payton.

"Got a name anyway. Guy left his wallet in the car, nice and convenient. Name of Joe Miller. We're running him through everything we've got at the moment. Should come up with some information on him soon." Payton said, "but we also found a handwritten shopping list."

"A shopping list?" Schell asked, clearly puzzled.

Payton smirked and raised an eyebrow at Horatio, "It was for a very high tech store that sells amongst other things, clandestine GPS devices… you know, like overstock from government surplus? And if there's one thing we've managed to figure out about Joe Miller? He was definitely not your 'higher technology' type." He left off, hanging heavy with implications.

"But someone like Randall Thorpe, is." Horatio said as Payton opened his office door.

"Uh huh, considering he was in on the ground floor when Microsoft took off, he'd know about this kind of stuff." Payton confirmed and showed Schell to a nearby couch which she sank into gratefully. Horatio took one of the chairs, stretching his long legs out then steepling his fingers together as he rested his elbows on the arms rests.

"Was it what they put on my rental?" Schell asked.

Payton glanced at her, "Yes it was, do you know anything about it?"

She shook her head, sipping coffee, her fingers wrapped around the cup for warmth. "Just what he told me." She nodded at Horatio.

"From what I saw when they let me take a look at the boat." Horatio added, clearing up Payton's questioning look.

A buzzer going off on Payton's phone interrupted their conversation. Lifting the reciever, he listened a moment, smiled and looked at Horatio.

"Carl says Thorpe's primed and ready, starting to blow steam in the interrogation room. Been sitting in there for two hours now." He set the receiver down on its cradle.

"He's here?" Schell asked.

"We sort of like them to stew a little while before we start asking our questions." Payton replied, eliciting a soft snort of amusement from Horatio.

"Among other things," Horatio commented to the captain..

"Shall we?" Payton asked, rising from his desk. He paused a little as Schell stood up. "If you like, Miss Demereau, you can stay in here and use the couch? This process can take quite a long time and it is a little unusual to allow visitors who are not law enforcement in the observation room. You're welcome to come, don't get me wrong. I just thought I'd leave the option open."

Horatio glanced at her, seeing the storm clouds still building far back in her dark eyes.

"I'd like to attend…" she said, and Payton smiled.

"All right let me explain a few things…"

As they started towards the interrogation rooms, Payton gave Schell a gentle run down on protocol when viewing what she was about to see.

It was still a little disconcerting to her as she stepped into the darkened room with an enormous viewing window and seeing her employer on the other side, pacing in frustration. Horatio was just taking it in stride, his head tipped slightly as he studied Thorpe through the window.

"He can't see you, or even hear you," Payton explained, "but you will be able to hear us…" he poked a few buttons on a wall mounted intercom. He then extracted his cell phone from his jacket and glanced at Horatio.

"I'm more then open to a few text messages if you've got any questions of your own, Lieutenant?" he smirked.

Horatio smirked back and pulled his out, flipping it open. He glanced at Schell, looking at him curiously.

"One way we can prompt for questions without interrupting the proceedings," he explained. She nodded, hugging her arms to herself and looked back at Thorpe.

The door opened, and Carl, looking like an enormous bulldog, poked his head in. "Ready when you are boss," he said. Payton grinned, slipping his cell phone away and rubbed his hands in glee.

"Showtime!" he said and headed off.

As the door clicked shut, Horatio looked at Schell. "You sure you're all right with this?" he asked gently.

"I've got to know…" she said quietly, frowning and hugging her arms to herself. "What has he done to me? Why?" She looked at him anxiously. "What the hell have I gotten myself mixed up in and how is this going to affect everything I do? I'm…" she shook her head, "I just have to know…"

He smiled gently, studying her drawn face and nodded. "I understand. But if you get tired, just remember the captain's couch. This could take a great long while."

Schell nodded and stiffened to attention as Carl and Payton, holding a file and notepad, entered the interrogation room.

It was clearly apparent, Randall Thorpe was angry for being hauled to the station, and he promptly began the age old argument about suing for harrassment, how he had already missed an important tee time at the Seattle Golf Club, how much of an inconvenience it was for him to be there, and how rude Carl Beckman was, etc ad nauseum.

Horatio stood there, his cell phone in one hand and toying with his ring fingernail. Schell noticed he was leaning forward, slightly toward the window, that he had a cold smile on his face and he looked bored.

Payton, for his part, was pleasant and diplomatic, coaxing Thorpe to sit down, apologizing for the inconvenience, that they just had some questions needing to be cleared and that if all went well, he'd be on his way in no time. He set the file and notebook on the table in front of them, while Carl, arms folded and leaning against the opposite wall, glowered at them both.

They had questions, Payton explained about how Thorpe had known about the shooting at the studio so quickly, seeing it had occurred so early in the morning, and that they just needed to clear that up and ask a few other questions as well.

Thorpe promptly began a rambling account of a party near Shilshole Marina at friends, how he had left to get some fresh clothes for his wife and himself and how he had seen the commotion at the studio as he drove by. He had a deeply vested interest in the work being produced at that studio and he needed to make sure that investment was being protected.

"Is any of that true?" Horatio asked, casting a glance at Schell, who was tucking a strand of her white hair back behind her ear. She looked at him, still clutching her arm, and nodded.

"The Mitchell's live about five miles from the Marina. I've met them once. They're partiers and definitely not my crowd. The Thorpes took me there once, trying to show me off," she said.

Horatio cast a glance at her, an eyebrow raised in query. "Show you off?"

"You can call it one of the job hazards… Sometimes the folks you work for insist on presenting you to everyone they know, sort of a 'see what I have and you don't' maneuver?" Schell tried to explain, looking cautiously at him. "I despise it personally, but it's one of the job requirements on occasion. Makes me feel kinda…" she shrugged. "cheap in a way. I'd rather just be researching and painting. You know, the thing they hired me for."

Horatio nodded, turning his attention back to the window. "Does that happen often?"

Schell shrugged, looking down a moment. "Occasionally. I do try to get out of them though. I find 'high society' social gatherings to be really boring. Not to mention disgusting."

Horatio smirked, he knew exactly what she meant.

Payton, meanwhile was talking Thorpe into writing down the contact numbers for the Mitchells, passing the notebook to him with a pen. Then he opened up the file folder in front of him, searching through some of the documents. He found a photograph and tugged it out, turning it around for Thorpe to see.

"Mr. Thorpe, is this your business card?" he asked, catching both Schell and Horatio's attention in the observation room.

Thorpe looked at the picture, frowned in suspicion then glared at Payton. "Yes it is," he stated flatly. "What the hell has this got to do with someone taking pot shots at my artist?"

Horatio heard Schell taking a deep breath and cast a glance at her, she had a look of distinct disapproval on her face as she muttered, "My artist? He makes me sound like some sort of trophy possession…"

"Someone wasn't just taking pot shots at 'your artist'…" Beckman suddenly growled from his place at the wall. "We found evidence of a snipers nest in the trees at Golden Gardens Park across the street from the studio. Whoever it was was using .22 sniper rounds and tried to plant several of them into 'your artist' and a visiting cop from Miami… who very nearly ended up with one in him, I might add."

"Sniper rounds?" Thorpe exclaimed.

"Yeah," Carl sneered, "That kinda indicates its more then some gang bangers trying to exterminate one another in drive by's…"

"But what's that got to do with my business card!" Thorpe demanded.

Payton cleared his throat, bringing Thorpe's attention back on himself. "What it's got to do is with a double shooting that took place this morning at a warehouse near Todd Shipyards. It was a place that stores artwork for transport between one exhibit or museum to the next. We located your card in the office."

"I deal with artwork a lot, I'm a collector, my business card is probably in the hands of any reputable art dealer and warehouse in Seattle! What has that got to do with a shooting?"

"That's what we'd like to clear up, Mr. Thorpe." Payton replied. "Seems there was a trailer load of stolen artwork in the warehouse, we have definitive proof that the shootings took place over that stolen work and one of the people killed was an undercover detective."

"I think I've had just about enough of this!" Thorpe snapped, rising from the table.

"Please sit down, Mr. Thorpe." Payton said in a tone that definitely meant no arguing.

Thorpe glared at him, and slowly sank back down.

"The business records for the warehouse, clearly indicate that you purchased artwork through your company. We have a bit of a problem with that as this warehouse is supposed to just be a storage facility. Would you mind telling us about that?" Payton ground on.

A tap on the door jerked Horatio's head around as Lisa, the tech who had done Schell's Ten-card, stuck her head into the room. She was holding an armload of files and looking a little excited.

"Is the Captain in there?" she asked.

Horatio nodded and glanced at Schell. "Stay here a moment," he said and gently ushered the tech back out into the hall. "What have you got?" he asked as the door clicked shut behind him. He was looking at his cell phone as his thumbs tapped out a quick message. He hit the send key.

In the interrogation room, Schell was watching as Payton reacted to his phone vibrating in his pocket. He reached for it, flipped it open and glanced at an indignant Thorpe.

"Excuse me a moment," he said, abruptly standing up.

Stepping out into the hall he looked at Horatio and Lisa. "This had better be good…"

"Wouldn't interrupt you otherwise." Lisa grinned, holding the file out for him.

"Information just started pouring in. Seems Joe Miller was a former employee of Randall Thorpe's, providing security for their home until they found out he had a nasty habit of blowing things up…" she grinned. "Guy is into assault, petty arson, and vandalism. Really liked to make things go boom. Plus we are finding out that Thorpe is up to his ears in debt to a vengeful ex-wife who is suing for more alimony. And that his business is taking a direct hit from it, and failing. But that's not the piece de la resistance…" she shot a mischievous look at Horatio.

"Mr. Thorpe has a few, very interesting, insurance policies…"

"Oh really?" Payton asked, looking thorough the top folder.

"Policies?" Horatio asked, his eyes revealing his mind racing at top speed.

Payton suddenly let out a low whistle. "I'll say he does," he looked up at Horatio with wolfish delight. "To the tune of a few million dollars! This all spells motive… are they serving the warrents on the Thorpe residence yet?" he suddenly asked Lisa.

"As we speak.," she promptly responded.

"Good, good… " he looked up at Horatio. "What we got here is enough to hold our boy for a while. Lisa, call the DA's office and get someone down here."

"Beat ya too it boss!"

"Good deal, ready to watch the fireworks?" He asked Horatio.

"Always…" Horatio grinned.


	19. Chapter 19

**19.**

As he slipped back into the observation room, Schell looked at him, still clutching her arms. "What was that all about?" she asked.

Looking at her, he hesitated, glancing at the interrogation room as Payton reentered. He reached up, running a hand over his mouth. How many times had he been stuck on the horns of a dilemma? The predator in him wanted to stay and watch what was about to happen, but Schell standing in the room suddenly presented a problem.

"Horatio?" she asked him, seeing he was thinking very hard, his one hand stroking the corners of his lips and the other planted on his hip. "Horatio? What did she find out? She had something important didn't she?"

He had just made up his mind, turning to look at her and about to suggest that they leave when Payton started his opening salvo against Randall Thorpe…

Sitting down in front of him, Payton looked at him hard for a moment then quietly asked, "Mr. Thorpe, would you mind explaining to me why you have taken out a 15 million dollar life insurance policy on Schell Demereau?"

The observation room suddenly electrified as both Horatio and Schell snapped their heads around to look into the interrogation room. Horatio, appalled at the amount mentioned, knew instantly its purpose. In that silent, jarring pause of revelation, the pieces of the puzzle he had been working on for Schell suddenly began fitting neatly into place in his mind at top speed. That momentary distraction, as he started seeing the over-all picture of the entire situation was enough for him not to see what was happening next to him.

Freezing in place, the colour in Schell's face suddenly drained out as her jaw dropped in horror at what Payton had just asked her boss.

"That information…." Thorpe was saying to Payton, "is none of your business!"

"Oh, but it is now, Mr. Thorpe," Payton responded, "you see, we just tied you to the man found dead in the warehouse with our detective. Seems he was a former employee of yours who had a penchant for making bombs. And when his picture was shown to the clerk at the boat rental business this morning? He was identified as a customer looking to rent the very same boat that Schell Demereau took out the day it exploded. And with a 15 million dollar life insurance policy on her, you stand to make a hell of a killing…" he smiled sourly, "No pun intended… 15 million on the death of your artist, then who knows how much you could reap on the suddenly appreciated value of her paintings after her death?"

The sudden hiss of indrawn breath followed by the rustle of movement next to him abruptly jerked Horatio out of his thoughts and he barely moved fast enough to block the door to the room.

"No!" he snapped out.

"That son-of-a-bitch!" Schell seethed, trying to push Horatio aside. "That son of a … Horatio let me out!" She tried moving him aside, but he was as solid as rock and just as immovable.

"No…" he said firmly, "you can't do this, Schell!" he said, catching her by the arms. He could see the horrible look of pure rage in her eyes.

"Let go of me!" she suddenly began struggling like a small wildcat. Deftly, Horatio tried turning her around, his hands moving to grip her wrists, but as he went to grab them, she managed a vicious swipe of her elbow into his side.

"Ahhh!" he gasped, groaned out loud, releasing Schell and grabbing for his wounded side, stumbling sideways. She twisted away from him, making for the door again.

Horatio, nearly blinded by the fresh stabs of pain, sensed more than saw her moving and barely managed to shove himself in front of the door, still bent over and holding his injury with his arm tight against his side.

"No!" he managed to growl through his teeth, tucking his head and shoulder down and angling to protect both himself and block the door.

"Get out of my way!" Schell snapped, raining blows against his back and shoulder as he twisted his head out of her reach.

Gritting his teeth, Horatio drew in a deep breath, conquering the pain he was in, and started to straighten up. As she tried shoving him away from the door again, he turned to look at her, his own eyes dark with pain. Enough was enough.

Her right hand came up for another blow to his shoulder and he moved quickly, his left hand snaking out, catching her wrist.

Schell, facing him, saw him stand up to his full, formidable height as he raised his left arm up, blocking any further blows and forcing her right arm up, his grip on her wrist as tight as any handcuffs could be. She was beginning to struggle again, trying to break free of his grip when he pulled her arm up higher, reaching under his own left arm and grabbing her right shoulder by the coat. He turned her around in a macabre pirouette, causing her to stumble with the awkward footing, as he pulled her wrist up and around in front of her. With another fast grab, he managed to snag her left wrist in his right, and as another nearly blinding stab of pain hit his wounded side, he crossed Schell's arms in front of her and jerked her backwards towards him, bear-hugging her to his chest before he had to bend over her to prevent her from getting another elbow in his side.

"Stop!" he said in her ear, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth again at the pain in his side. "Stop it!"

She struggled on, arching her head and back into him and finding herself in a grip so tight she could barely move. With him bent over her, trying to rein in the pain, she could barely move her legs, despite trying to stomp on his feet. "Let me go!" she raged in frustration and anger, but Horatio wasn't about to let her loose.

"Stop it…" he said sternly in her ear, twisting them both towards the intercom, where he managed to elbow the receiver button off despite Schell's frantic struggling. "Schell!" he urged, "Calm down."

Schell, as the rage was beginning to leave her, become conscious that Horatio was far stronger then she realized.

"Calm down…" he urged her, feeling the change in her as she was going from raging to sobs of frustration. "Come on sweetheart, calm down…" he murmured gently.

As he was gaining some control over the pain in his side, he could feel her sag in his arms, and knowing the initial reaction was starting to drain away, he knelt down on one knee, still maintaining his hold.

"It's okay…" he whispered in her ear, past her tears. "Just calm down."

Her legs gave way and he eased her to the floor, still holding onto her as she continued to weep tears of frustration. Presently, her head dropped forward, her fists relaxed in his grip, and she simply wept.

How long they remained there, no one knew, Horatio just continued to gently tell her to calm down and let her cry herself out. When he felt her shuddering sigh and the shaking of her body begin to abate, he said quietly, "I'm gonna let you go, now, all right? Promise me you won't try going out the door, okay?"

She nodded, despite a fresh welling of tears in her eyes, and he carefully released her wrists, sliding his hands up her arms. She didn't move and he simply wrapped his arms around her.

"It's all right, Schell," he murmured low in her ear, as he rested his cheek against her head. "I need you to listen to me, all right?" he asked. Again she could only nod.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that…" he said. "I should never have let this happen." His words were full of remorse. "But I can't let you go into that room. It will destroy any case they have against him. Can you understand that?"

Another nod, and she shivered. He sighed, reaching up a hand to start to gently pull the hair out her face. "The last thing we want to do is jeopardize this case. I know it makes you angry, but you simply cannot confront him, especially now. You understand?"

"That son of a bitch!" she whispered.

"I agree, Schell," he murmured, "You want to see him punished for this, though, right?" he asked and as she nodded, he shifted a little, groaning, dropping a one hand to grasp his side. She turned a little, looking at his face, ( just inches from hers ) and frowned.

On top of everything she was wrestling with, he saw the mortification in her eyes as she realized why he had groaned. She shifted forward, away from him and turned to look at him.

"Don't…" he started to say, still bent over with his arm pinned against his side. She reached out, but he caught her hand, his eyes forbidding. Taking a deep breath, he got to his feet, wincing with the effort, and helped her to stand up. He shifted his position, careful to block her view into the next room. Schell reached to pull his jacket aside, but he slipped his other hand across his stomach and covered his injury.

"It's all right," he said to her, seeing the look of agony and remorse in her eyes. "Don't worry about it, all right? Let's just get out of here.." he looked at her. "Okay?"

Schell slowly closed her eyes, struggling to not get overwhelmed again, then she heaved a sigh, trying to overcome her sense of shame. He reached up, settling his arm across her shoulders.

"It's okay," he murmured, gently kissing the top of her head. He nudged her towards the door. "Let's go."

"I'm sorry…" she whispered, looking confused.

He smiled sadly, nodded and murmured. "I know you are. It's all right, you're forgiven…" He opened the door, and could see her struggling not to cry again as he maneuvered her out through the door and away from the interrogation room.

It was dark out, by the time they reached the parking garage, and she was more in control of herself, albeit silent, until he reached for his keys. She stopped and looked at him pleadingly for a moment.

"What is it?" he asked, reaching for the passenger door to let her in.

"I can't go home, not just now, I just can't."

"All right…" he said, studying her. "We can do something else."

"Can we just drive?"

He smiled gently and nodded, seeing her need to just 'decompress'. She was asking for time. "Sure, climb in." he said. Before climbing in himself, he sent a quick text message to Payton telling him he'd contact him later, then he got in and started the engine.

And they drove.

It was already late when they merged into traffic heading south on I-5, and neither spoke as Horatio set the cruise control. It was later still when they reached the outskirts of Olympia, the state capitol, and for the first time since leaving the police station, Schell asked him to the take the exit marked 'HWY 101 Ocean Beaches'. He complied, glancing at her as she leaned against the door, staring out into the darkness and gently stroking the corners of her mouth.

She was much more composed by then, but looked haunted and shattered at the same time.

Silently, he reached over and took her free hand gently in his, she glanced down, looking at his hand covering hers, then up at him.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, looking over at her with that 'puppy eyed' look she had noticed before.

"I should be asking you that…" she replied, her words full of guilt, she looked away from him, dropping her head.

"I'm fine, it's not bleeding, it's just sore."

"I'm sorry, Horatio, I really am sorry," she said softly, her eyes troubled as she took to glancing out the window again. "I just… lost it in there." She felt his hand grip hers gently, giving reassurance.

"I know…" he said reassuringly. "And that's okay, Schell." he smiled gently. "I'd have been worried if you hadn't reacted to news like that."

She looked at him again, pondering his words. "I've never…" she started. "I've never done that before. And I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am for causing you so much trouble."

"It's all right, Schell…" he murmured.

"Is it?" she asked, watching the darkened, thick evergreen trees on the side of the road rush by. "What do I do now? How do I protect myself in this situation? I've never been involved in anyting like this before."

"Schell…" he said, getting her to look at him again. "I told you I would help you out with this, and I meant it. Just do me a favour, okay?"

She looked at him. Squeezing her hand, he said. "Let's not worry about it tonight, okay?"

She searched his face, studying his profile as he watched the darkened road ahead.

"All right…" she said softly, her shoulders relaxing a little as they drove.

An hour or so later, they pulled into the outskirts of Aberdeen, and Horatio located a Burger King open late near Wishkah Mall. Asking if she wanted to go inside to eat, she murmured to the contrary so he pulled around to the drive up window and ordered. Getting their food, he started to pullout when she asked him if she could drive.

He paused a moment, looking at how drawn and tired she was, but he couldn't refuse.

She continued their driving south on HWY 101, and it wasn't too much longer before his head started drooping. When he set his head against the cool window, watching another sleepy little town whisk by, he closed his eyes and was asleep in seconds.

How long they continued to drive, he wasn't sure (until some time later when he had the chance to study a map), but when he abruptly jerked himself awake, he was startled to find that the car was stopped.

It was pitch black and as he sat up straight and blinked in confusion, he began to notice he was the only person in the car.


	20. Chapter 20

**20.**

"Schell?" he said, looking around, seeing she was not in the vehicle. He paused, listening.

The deep boom of pounding surf met his ears and as he peered through the windshield, he could see they were the only car parked in a public lot near a driftwood strewn beach. It was utterly dark out, a thick cloud cover obscuring the night sky, and there was a stiff breeze blowing. He frowned, turning his wrist and poking the light on his watch to read the time.

It was a little after three in the morning. Where the hell where they?

He popped the door open, sucking in a deep breath at the chill in the air, and groaned as his stiff side protested at moving. He stood up, looking around and not seeing Schell anywhere.

All he could hear was the sound of wind and surf, and judging from how far off the waves sounded, he knew it had to be low tide. He shut the door gently, listening carefully before moving out in front of the car to a break in the driftwood and sand indicating a path. Wrapping his overcoat about him, he made his way onto the beach proper.

Finding her in the dark presented no problem. Schell's unusual hair being the giveaway. She stood a considerable way down the beach, near something dark and macabre that was looming up out of the sand. He hunched into his coat, mindful of the chill and the ache in his side, and listened to the squeak and crunch of the sand under his feet as he made his way over the dryer sand to more firm footing closer to the water line.

He watched her as he approached, she was simply standing there, the wind blowing her white hair about and she was just staring out at the sea. His eyes already adjusted to the dark, he realized as he came nearer, that the strange objects looming out of the sand before her were the skeletal remains of a very old shipwreck. Schell was standing near what was left of the bow, now just a heavily oxidized network of rusty iron soaring up at a precarious angle above her head..

Approaching her, he looked at her in concern. She glanced at him and a soft, serene smile drifted across her lips. Despite having buttoned up her own overcoat and having shoved her hands into the pockets, she was shivering from the cold.

"Hey…" she said as he walked up.

He paused before he spoke, still looking at her with some concern. "What are you doing?" he asked quietly.

Schell ducked her head a moment, then looked back at him shyly. "Just thinking," she said. "That's all."

He lifted his chin a moment, his head tilting a little as he studied her tired features.

"I kept driving down the coast…" she explained to him. "Just followed 101. You were sound asleep and I didn't want to wake you, so I just kept driving. I crossed over the border into Oregon at Astoria and kept on going until I saw the signs for Ft. Stevens. So I drove over here." She shook a hand loose of her pocket and flipped her hair out of her eyes. "I didn't alarm you, did I?" she asked.

"Umm, no," he said, tucking his chin in and smiling, "No, you didn't."

"Your side? Is it all right?" She asked, searching his face.

"Yeah," he looked at her, his eyes warm and friendly. He noted her concern for him and sensed something of a change in her. "It's fine. What about you?"

"I'm…" she paused and looked away from him at the wreckage before her. "I don't know," she shrugged.

He watched her some more, seeing a far-off look in her eyes. "What is this, Schell?" he asked softly.

"This?" she echoed distantly. "This is what's left of the Peter Iredale."

Horatio, still studying her, finally put his finger on what it was that puzzled him. She was beyond exhausted, at a stage where sleep was escaping her despite being so tired. She was, for lack of better wording, literally running on fumes. Yet there was an odd sense of peace about her as she stared at the wreckage.

"The Iredale?" he prompted.

"Yeah, she was a beautiful four-mast barque. She wrecked…" Schell paused a long while, blinking slowly and thinking a moment, "She wrecked almost a hundred years ago. In 1906." Looking at him again, she smiled softly. "This is one of the few wrecks left that you can see…" her voice trailed off as she looked back at the wreckage.

"Schell…" he said gently, reaching up to set his hand on her cheek.

As he was about to speak, she leaned her face into his warm hand, closed her eyes and murmured, "I kinda know what it feels like, now; being shipwrecked, seems everything I've been trying to accomplish has hit the rocks."

Horatio smiled tenderly, shook free his other hand, and cupped her face in them both. "You know what?" he said as she opened her eyes, "We're both tired and it's been a very long day, let's go some place warm, all right?" He looked at her expectantly.

"Okay…" she said softly. He nodded with satisfaction, slipped his arm over her shoulder and drew her close, turning her away from the wreckage. They lapsed into a companionable silence and as they approached the path back to the parking lot, Schell paused, turning her head to look back at the old shipwreck. She reached up to move the hair out of her face.

He watched her, her face looking pensive and sad as she gazed at the wreck, then she sighed and looked at him.

"You must think I am nuts, coming out here…" she murmured, looking down , still trying to pull white strands of hair from her eyes.

"No…" he murmured back, smiling, "Not at all. We all seek absolution in the strangest places." Schell was too tired to notice a deep gulf of inner pain in his eyes as he watched her.

"I've put you through so much this past week…" she said softly. "And you have seen me at my worst." She sighed wearily, remorse on her face. "You've seen me in something I have never been involved with, before, and I do _not_ know how to handle it."

He looked down a moment, a soft, gentle smile on his lips. "But that's what friends are for…." he said quietly. "To help when the other one can't help themselves," He looked at her, reaching up to set his hand at the back of her neck. "And you," he studied her face and the white wisps of hair that drifted about in the stiff breeze. "You have already done the right thing in admitting that you can't handle it alone, that's half the battle right there. So…" he gave her a tender smile. "So that's where I come in. You haven't put me through anything I haven't been in before, and I also volunteered to help."

"Damn fool…" she murmured and smiled.

Horatio suddenly chuckled, his teeth flashing white in a boyish, lopsided grin.

"You know…" she said, looking askance at him. "You really do have a nice smile."

That caught him unawares, he blinked in surprise and looked at her with a tiny frown between his eyes. Schell began to softly snicker in amusement. Hearing her, he suddenly looked away, a wry smile curling his lips as he shook his head.

"I think someone's asleep on their feet," he murmured as he dropped his hand, catching her own in his and stuck both into his overcoat pocket. "Come on," he said, before leading her back to the car.

"You should see the look on your face," she replied, gentle mirth in her voice.

"Hmmm," he murmured, walking up to the passenger side. "I think you need to surrender the keys…" he held out his other hand. He smirked at her in amusement, his eyes twinkling mischief.

Schell began to laugh as she fumbled in her pocket for the keys to the car. "Yes, Lieutenant…" She set them in his hand, and as he let her into the car, he chuckled.

It was a losing battle for Schell, trying to stay awake in the warm car, and by the time they reached Astoria, she had almost completely nodded off. Tempting though it was, knowing by now that Seattle was only 4-5 hours north on I-5, he decided against trying to drive it and found a Holiday Inn Express where he booked one of the more expensive suites, two queen sized beds, and put her in one. She was gone in seconds.

Horatio, however, sat on the edge of the second bed, his arms resting on his knees as he silently toyed with the key card for the room, lost in his thoughts. Occasionally, he would look up and watch Schell as she slept, noticing the fatigue etched into her face and hating that she had had to go through what she was facing. He smiled slightly to himself, thinking again for the hundredth time that if he could just help protect her from some of that --and what was to come-- he'd have done his job.

There were aspects of the investigation that still needed to be answered, but for the most part, Seattle had a damn good case against Randall Thorpe. At least in the area of the explosion on Schell's rental boat. It was just a matter of time before the majority of pieces to the puzzle were put together. As to what had happened to Paul Hirsch and Joe Miller in the warehouse, there were still some gaping holes, but he was more interested in those parts that concerned Schell.

Far in the back of his thoughts he still wondered about the .22 caliber rounds that had been used during the shooting at the studio. No doubt, he mused, feeling how tired he was, they would get explained shortly. He stood up a little, setting the card aside, wincing at the pain in his side, and flipped back the covers of the other bed before slipping under them. He let out a long sigh, reaching up to run a hand down his face before draping his arm over his eyes. Feeling his weariness and aches and pains, he let himself swim in the luxurious feeling of stretching out flat in a warm bed and closing his eyes…

Like Schell, he didn't last very long.


	21. Chapter 21

**21.**

Over the course of the next few days, Horatio saw what it was that he had sensed in Schell Demereau that night on the beach. The shock of her situation had at last worn off, and as Captain Payton, the District Attorney's office, and the lawyers they recommended for her, began to walk her through the upcoming processes of what was to come, he could see she was beginning to 'stand on her own two feet'. The DA was thrilled to have someone of Horatio's caliber on the prosecution witness list and confidently assured Schell that what they had accumulated regarding evidence would send Thorpe away for a good long time.

That, in turn left the civil case, highly recommended -- by the lawyers in the DA's office-- for her to pursue against Thorpe, as she was determined that the unfinished Santa Clara Wreck painting would not go into his hands. As for the Glenesslin painting, she decided it should be donated to the museum the Thorpes originally intended it for.

That sense of peace, despite the turmoil of lawyers meetings etc. et al. had persisted and he was seeing her at last in her more natural state. She had gained badly needed confidence, both with his and the legal professionals' help and was beginning to feel more relaxed.

On the fourth day after the trip to see the Iredale wreck, he was helping her pack more of her belongings on the 'Amalia Blue' when his cell phone went off. Willing now to let her out of his sight, she had run a load of laundry to the on-site facility.

"Horatio Caine," he said as he answered it, not immediately recognizing the number.

"It's Payton…" came the Captain's voice.

"What can I do for you?" Horatio asked as he stashed away the last of the kitchen utensils into a box.

"I just got an SOS call from a Chief Burton…" Payton said, trying to hide the humour in his voice. "I think you're needed back at home."

"Oh?" Horatio asked, pausing in his work.

"Said something along the lines of the Clavo Cruz case going to trial in two days, come home ASAP."

"Clavo Cruz…" Horatio murmured as a predatory smile appeared on his lips.

"Big case?" Payton asked.

"Very big case; a long time in coming." Horatio confirmed.

"Sounds like daddy is pulling the chain." Payton mused.

"In this case, I certainly don't mind." Horatio responded.

"Sounds like you're gonna be leaving our fair city, then, Lieutenant." Payton said. "And I can't thank you enough for all the help you've supplied in this case."

"My pleasure," Horatio smiled, "I'll be back, though, courtesy of your District Attorney's office."

"When you do, let's meet up, dinner will be on me!" Payton said.

"I will do that, Captain," Horatio said with a smile. "Thanks for passing on Burton's message."

"No problem, give Miss Demereau my regards."

"Of course," Horatio replied and Payton hung up.

Pausing a moment afterwards, Horatio turned and found a local phone directory under the nav station in the boat. His face suddenly looked troubled as he flipped through the book looking for the number of the airline he would be flying out on. It was time for him to go, but how was he going to tell Schell?

He was sitting there, at the nav station, the phone book and his cell phone on the table before him when Schell returned from the laundry facilities. He had been softly stroking the corners of his mouth with his long fingers when he heard her stepping onto the upper deck.

He was up instantly, opening the cabin door for her as she came down the steps.

"Thanks!" she said, making an abrupt right turn and taking the basket into the master bedroom where she deposited it on the bed.

"Lucky I got in there when I did, the place is packed, now," she commented, turning around and reentering the main salon. She spotted the phone book and his cell phone and stopped.

One look at his face told her everything in a split second of time. A part of her had known it was coming and had tried to prevent her from getting so used to his being around, but the reality of his leaving was staring her in the face and she knew deep down that she wasn't as prepared for it as she had hoped to be. Nor was she prepared for the abruptness, either.

"Um…" he murmured seeing the shock of realization in her dark eyes. "Captain Payton called while you were out. My chief was trying to track me down."

"Y- your chief?" she stammered, looking away suddenly, confusion in her eyes.

"Yeah…" he said, toying with the edge of one of his fingernails, and looking at her with concern. "I umm," he paused, blinked, and couldn't look at the disappointment being mirrored in her eyes. "I, uhh, I have to go."

She started to say something, but then shut her mouth and nodded.

"I'm needed back in Miami, Schell," he said gently.

"Yeah…" she said, blinking and reaching up to pull her hair from her face. "I know, I understand…" she said distantly. She forced a smile, glanced at him, and nodded her head again. "Of course, you have to get back."

A sudden sea of awkwardness expanded between them. Unable to look at her, he sighed a little, then moved towards the forward bunk, where he began to gather some of his personal things.

"Are you going now?" she asked, perplexed.

"Um…" he paused again. "Alaska Airlines has a non-stop flight that I can take to get back to Miami by tonight, but I have to leave in three hours."

"Three hours…" Schell echoed, looking at him as he began packing his things.

"That should give me time to get the rental back and catch that flight." He said, turning to gather some of his other things from the head. He didn't see the stunned look on her face as it sank in.

He couldn't help but notice it when he turned back, to see her standing rooted in place and looking at him with shock and despair in her eyes. He paused in his packing, blinking again before he started to say something, couldn't, and sighed again.

"Schell…" he started, searching for the right words. He looked up at her again. She was looking away from him, her eyes searching but not seeing the galley as she tried to absorb the abruptness of his plans.

He stopped what he was doing, looked at her in concern, and went to her.

"Hey…" he murmured as she started to look up at him, trying to hide her sense of hurt. She forced another smile, looking anywhere but at him. "Listen to me a moment?" he asked, looking at her expectantly.

"You don't have to explain…" she started to protest, backing away from him.

"Schell…" he said quietly, stung by her sudden distance. "It's got to do with an important case I was on." He said. "I have to be there and I have to be ready. It's going to trial day after tomorrow…"

He saw her draw in a deep breath as she reached up to grip her arms.

"Of course," she said quietly, trying to smile again. "I'm sorry, Horatio," she looked towards him imploringly, trying to meet his concerned gaze and failing. "It's just a bit sudden…" she managed to whisper.

"I'm sorry for that," he said gently, smiling at her in concern. "If I had any doubts as to your safety, I would do whatever I could to get a continuance…"

"But?" she supplied for him, looking at him then.

He smiled softly. "You're going to be fine, Schell," he said. "You've got a full network of support in place, now," he almost added that she didn't need him any more, but something told him not to. "They are all there to help and there have been no additional attempts on you since Miller was identified as the bomber."

"But was he also the shooter?" she asked.

Horatio winced, looking away in uncertainty. "They haven't determined that, yet," he said quietly, and it was still a sore point for him. "They have Thorpe, though, and since then, Captain Payton and the DA's office have moved mountains to help you out."

"Yeah…" she said, smiling uncomfortably and looking down. "They have, and I am not ungrateful."

"I know you're not," he murmured, smiling fondly at her. "As for me, though, my job is..."

"Horatio, I understand," she said, cutting him off. "I know you have a very important job to get back to." She looked at him frankly. "I understand that." She flashed a sad smile and added. "I'm a big girl, I can handle being alone. I was just caught off guard by the suddenness, is all."

"I know…" he said quietly, looking down at his fingers where he had been toying with one of his nails again. "This kind of thing…" he said awkwardly, "this kind of thing happens with me." He looked at her beseechingly, hoping she would understand.

A silence fell between them as she searched his face.

"I've never lied to you, Schell…" he added softly.

She sighed, looked down again, and rubbed her arms. "You had better finish packing, Seattle traffic is hell this time of day and Sea-Tac is worse, especially since 9-11."

Horatio paused, looking sadly at her, then he nodded.

Twenty minutes later they were both heading up the dock to the parking lot, Horatio carrying his things. It was crisp and clear out, the early Spring sunshine barely shedding any warmth and there was a stiff breeze coming off the choppy waters of Puget Sound.

That strained awkward silence still lay between them as Horatio loaded his luggage into the car, before moving to stand by the driver's side door and looking at Schell. He could see where her jaw muscles had tightened as she grit her teeth, trying to keep her emotions in check. The smile he gave her as he reached down and took her hand in his was compassionate and caring. His other hand slipped into his inside jacket pocket, and pulled out a white business card.

"This is for you," he said softly, searching her face.

Schell looked at him, a little confused, as she took the card with her other hand and looked it over. The badge of the Miami-Dade Sheriff's department stood in stark black ink and exquisite detail on the left. And on the lower right corner was his name and rank, a contact number and a fax number. In pen under that was a phone number he had written in.

"That's my cell phone number," he explained. "When you get into Miami and get settled in, I expect you to call me…" he searched her face again. She looked up at him, unable to speak, but couldn't help but see a look of hope far back in his eyes.

She nodded her head, looked away, and fingered the card. Still holding her hand in his, he tugged gently and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. A little hesitant at first, Schell returned his warm embrace, sliding her arms up his back. He held her head to his chest, feeling the softness of her hair, setting his cheek against her for a moment. Then he pulled back, looking down into her face.

Reaching out, he tilted her chin up, leaned forward and very lightly brushed his lips against hers, before gently catching her upper lip in his in an exquisitely delicate embrace. He broke it off, holding her closer to him and heaving a sigh, before he slid his hands to her arms and gently pushed her away.

"Call me…" he whispered searching her stunned face.

Schell said nothing, only reaching up to set her hand on his face. He watched as tears formed in her eyes and she seemed to fix the details of his care-worn features in her mind, her thumb absently brushing over his lips, as her fingertips brushed his sideburn. Reaching up, he clutched her hand one more time, shifting to kiss the backs of her fingers; then he smiled and climbed into the car.

His last visual memory of her was seeing her standing in the parking lot, the hand that she had set on his face now covering her mouth as she struggled not to fall apart. The wind had tousled her extraordinary hair back off from her face and she was staring forlornly off over Puget Sound.

It would be months before he would see her again.

**END OF PART ONE**

**Author's Note:**

**An open letter to readers...**

Okay folks,

Here it is in its entirety. Please do not be afraid of that review button down there, I need to hear your feedback, especially now that this story is finished. I am a big girl, I can take contructive criticism so don't be afraid to post something. If you aren't a registered member of the site, just email me at . Please, review the fic for me, I am well into the second half and your feedback is vital! Go to the button below or just email me at my addie. Your input is very welcome. Thanks.

Teej


End file.
